Through the Dark
by SkyFire2
Summary: How does an Elf cope with being trapped inside Moria? Not very well. The first 3 chapters are sort of an intro to the real story. Mpreg fic. If you don't like those, don't read it! Please R/R, no flames. FINISHED!
1. First night's journey into Moria...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did... though me LotRMuses already wish that I had even less   
access than I do... I wonder why... *g*  
  
A/N: 1)It's 1:15 in the morning. This is the best title I could come up with. It doesn't fit   
what the story *will* be like at all, so it's subject to change. *g*  
2)This is mainly in the bookverse, which is why the movie-only folks out there might not agree   
with some of the descriptions of Moria. This is one of the things that the movie chopped a *lot.*  
3)Thoughts, as always, are in / /.  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Well, that settled *that* question.  
  
The echoes of the West-gate being blocked from without by the Watcher in the Water answered it   
more clearly than anyone's words could have, and with a numbing finality. There was no longer   
even the option of going back. There was only forward.  
  
Forward, into the darkness that weighed him down even then.  
  
The last echoes faded at last, but once they had, he wished they hadn't. The endless stifling   
silence was broken only by the Fellowship's harsh though quickly-calming breathing.  
  
Smothering under the weight of the darkness and the knowledge of the great mountain that sat   
above them, deafened by the unnatural quiet of the place, Legolas did not hear the others' short   
conversation as to the inability to go back and the choosing of Gandalf to lead them through the   
dark dwarven halls to the other side and out.  
  
The Elf started with surprise at a small nudge from Aragorn, managed to shove down the   
claustrophobic fear that rose in him enough to move legs like lead weights and follow the others   
up a broad stairway.  
  
Two hundred steps passed beneath his leaden feet. Two hundred steps that led them upward until   
they came at last to a level passage that would take them even further into the mountain. Two   
hundred steps in which the fear inside him could do nothing but grow, no matter how hard he   
struggled with it.  
  
The Fellowship stopped at the landing at the top of the stairs. There they ate, though Legolas   
had not much appetite and ate barely enough to feed even the smallest of birds. The sip of   
Elrond's wondrous *miruvor* helped lighten his spirits a little, enough to allow him to smile   
reassuringly in the face of Aragorn's concerned look, and to shrug off his earlier hesetation as   
nothing. His facade nearly cracked, however, upon hearing Gandalf estimate that it would take   
them perhaps three or four days to reach the way out.  
  
How could he survive four days of this oppressive, stifling darkness? How could he bear it? To   
see not the sun or the moon or the stars, nor hear the wind plau through the trees, or the song   
of birds? He felt the stone all around him, solid as a tomb. He breathed still air that tasted   
of death and despair.  
  
Then Aragorn was there, nudging him once again.  
  
He looked up and saw that the others had already begun to continue on their way, following   
Gandalf and his glowing staff.  
  
The pale glow made the already deep shadows seem endlessly deeper, and Legolas was of no mind to   
be left alone in the dark. Quickly, he rose and followed the others.  
  
Aragorn came last, ever-watchful for dangers, continually casting concerned glances at the Elf.   
Despite Legolas' reassurances that all was well, he could tell that *something* was amiss,   
troubling the Elf.  
  
  
  
For hours upon hours Gandalf led them through the maze of roads and passages that wound through   
the mountain, until they came to a wide arch opening into three passages. Here they stopped, for   
Gandalf could not remember the correct path.  
  
Weary and also hoping that rest might help restore the old wizard's memory, they decided to pass   
what remained of the night in a guardroom beside the archway.  
  
Pippin got the first watch as punishment for dropping a piece of stone down a well that stood   
open in the floor of the room, and awakening ominous noises from the levels below.  
  
Legolas lay awake in his blankets, unable to find peace enough to sleep. As ever, the darkness   
weighed heavily on him. Despite his companions' nearness, he felt so utterly alone, cut off from   
everything living. He breathed in the faint stench of old death with every breath, heard the   
cold stone shout deafeningly, echoing years-gone death-cries into the endless silence.  
  
Then he looked over to see both Aragorn and Gandalf lying awake as well. After a short while, an   
eternity in stone, the wizard got up and went to take up the watch, sending Pippin to his rest   
with the others.  
  
That left Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn, who chose that moment to turn his eyes to Legolas, saw the naked fear and despair the   
Elf felt revealed in unguarded freen eyes. Elven eyes blinked, shocked at having been caught   
watching, then the veil fell once more over them, keeping the emotions behind them carefully   
hidden.  
  
But it was too late for that, and Legolas knew it.  
  
In a way, he was embarrassed at having been seen being something other than the strong, capable   
Elven warrior that he was. But another part of him, a larger part of him, was relieved. He knew   
that Aragorn would not reveal what he had seen, knew he could perhaps lean on the Dunadan for the   
aid he needed to take his troubled mind off the spirit-numbing darkness that closed in all around   
him.  
  
A hand fell to his shoulder, startling him once again. He looked up to see Aragorn there,   
crouched beside him, concern on his face.  
  
/Not a bad face,/ Legolas found himself thinking as he stared wordlessly up at the other. /Not a   
bad-looking face at all. The rest of him is equally good-looking. Perhaps he *can* help me   
drive away this inner darkness..../  
  
"Legolas?" came the hushed query. The strong hand tightened briefly on the Elf's shoulder.  
  
"Aragorn," Legolas said simply, need obvious in both voice and face. He reached up, one hand   
sliding over one of the Ranger's shoulders, the other rising to the face, stubble scratching his   
palm. "Please?" he asked as he pulled Aragorn down to lie on him. He feathered kisses over the   
strong face. "Aragorn, please. Will you...?"  
  
"Yes," came the reply.  
  
Then lips met lips for the first time and their heated passions drove away the darkness within   
until they both succumbed to sleep in each other's arms, sleeping an exhausted, dreamless sleep.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, what did you think? Click the button and let me know! *g* I *do* have a bit of a surprise   
planned for this fic... I'll have to get the Fellowship through Moria and out to Lothlorien   
before you'll find out what it is, though! *g* My plotbunnies want to eat at least 10 reviews   
before they let me post the next part... Why not oblige? *g* 


	2. The next day's journey...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
A/N: 1)Thanks to everyone who left the nice reviews (you know who you are)!  
2)Wow, my first ever flames! Over nothing! And the worst part about both of them was the horrific,   
nauseating, indecipherable spelling and grammar. *g* They were summarily laughed at and deleted. *g*  
3)Hate to break it to all you hard-core slashfans out there, but that two-line implication at the   
end of the last part is as close to 'graphic' description as my fanfic will ever get. I like to   
read it (esp. L/G!! *g*), but I can't/won't write it.   
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 2  
  
Gandalf woke them the next morning. He had decided during his night-watch which passage to lead   
them on, and it was time to resume their trek.  
  
Legolas awoke rested, feeling himself again with relief after the depths of darkness that had   
been all around him the night before. The darkness wasn't entirely gone from within him, but it   
*was* much reduced. His inner brightness, the light that all Elves share, felt redoubled inside,   
perhaps seeming all the brighter for the contrast against the Dark.  
  
He got up, joined the others for a breakfast slightly more optimistic than the last meal they'd   
shared in the dark fastness under the mountain.  
  
Then they were walking, again following the light of Gandalf's staff as he led them ever onward   
toward the way out.  
  
For eight long hours they walked, pausing only infrequently for rests and meals.  
  
The ominous darkness closed once again on him during the long march, though not quite as fast or   
as overwhelming as the night before. Still, he felt Aragorn's watchful gaze on him more or less   
constantly, and was glad for it. For the perceptive Ranger was able to sense when the darkness   
was closing in around him, at which times he would move up beside the Elf and distract him with   
friendly speech, lightening the Elf's spirits when he needed it the most.  
  
  
  
They were weary once again and looking for a secure resting-place for to pass the night when the   
passage ended, opening out into a vast hall. The light from Gandalf's staff lit the area of   
floor close about them, though leaving the distant walls and soaring ceiling veiled still in the   
deep shadows.  
  
Then Gandalf raised high his staff and called a sharp surge of bright white light. For one brief   
moment, all the great hall's shadows were driven back, revealing what must have been a magnificent   
hall in its day, when it was at all times brightly lit by lamps, torches and lanterns.  
  
Even now it was still glorious, awe-inspiring, with its soaring pillars and vaulted ceilings, all   
intricately carved as were all dwarven habitations, and set with bits of metal brightwork that   
glinted in the light. Even after all this time, the pillars still stood and the floors were   
straight and smooth.  
  
Then the light faded and the shadows came once again. But somehow the companions took heart from   
the memory; even abandoned as it was and had been for years, the light had showed it to be still   
beautiful beneath the thickly clinging shadows.  
  
  
  
They settled in to camp in one corner of the vast hall, out of the strong draft the blew across   
the room from one doorway to the next.  
  
Legolas ate the meal with the rest, then laid out his blankets and lay down on them. The others   
soon followed is example. Their hushed conversations drifted off into silence one by one as they   
settled in to sleep.  
  
Silence fell again.  
  
And again Legolas lay sleeplessly awake, the darkness and unease slowly creeping over him once   
again. Not even the memory of the hall's grandeur or Gandalf's guess that they just might see   
real sunlight on the morrow was enough to hold it back for long. Instead, the memory of the   
sheer *size* of the room coupled with the darkness to emphasize the feelings of loneliness, of   
insignificance.  
  
He felt the unrelenting tide of darkness close in on him, even worse, perhaps, for the brief   
respite.  
  
He knew without looking whose hand it was that had just grasped his shoulder reassuringly. He   
smiled faintly, rolled over to face the other.  
  
"Aragorn," he acknowledged.  
  
"Legolas," the Ranger said. he was crouched once again at the Elf's side, his expression one of   
friendly concern. "Are you well?"  
  
"It is dark," the Elf said quietly, careful not to speak so loud as to wake the others. "It   
closes in. I can feel it and the weight of the mountain above. It presses down on me. It   
stifles the breathing... and this place reeks of old death." He looked to Aragorn, miserable.   
"It is dark, Aragorn. Even with Gandalf's light, it is very dark here."  
  
Aragorn considered Legolas' words for a moment. He knew, having grown up in Rivendell with the   
Elves, how important inner light and dark were for Elves. It was entirely possible that the   
constant darkness was, as he said, stifling his breathing. "And last night?" he asked, speaking   
as softly as did the Elf. "Did... what we did...what happened.... Did it help you?"  
  
Legolas nodded without hesetation. "Yes," he answered. "It did. For a time." He paused,   
remembering. "When I awoke this morning, I felt amazingly well, as if the light inside had been   
doubled. Even throughout the day's march, with the closing darkness, I could feel it. It did   
take much longer for the dark to creep in this time. It was only recently, as the others fell   
asleep and the silence came...."  
  
Aragorn gently squeezed the soulder he held. "If you need... or want... such help again tonight,   
you have only to ask," he said simply, sincerely. "I am here for you, my friend."  
  
Legolas' smile was genuine, unforced. He covered the Dunadan's hand with his own, tugged gently.   
"Then I am asking," he said. "Help me again, as you did last night."  
  
Aragorn lowered himself to the Elf's blankets, slipping under them with him. Then, as they had   
the night before, their lips met. Once again, the flames of passion took them and wouldn't let   
go until both were too exhausted to continue.  
  
Once again they slept close together in each other's arms, dreamless, until morning.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So? What did you think? Let me know! *g* Click the button down there and leave my plotbunnies   
some review-type food! *g* 


	3. Balrog Day...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
A/N: 1) For those out there who've complained that the first two parts are basically the same in   
plot, I am fully aware of that. BUT, if you have a copy of FotR, go and read the chapters "A   
Journey in the Dark" and "the Bridge of Khazad-Dum." It takes up 23 pages in my copy of the book   
for Tolkien to get the Fellowship from one end of Moria to the other. Believe you me, there is   
repetition there, as well.  
  
2)Anybody guessed what I'm going to do to the poor Elf yet? *g* There's been more than enough   
foreshadowing in these three chapters to give you a pretty good idea! *g* Let me know your   
guesses, hmm? I want to know where you think I'm going with this! *g*  
  
3)Gandalf's sword Glamdring is the same as Frodo's blade Sting in that it was forged by   
Elven-smiths and glows when there are orcs near. Just so that you know for later in this part. *g*  
  
3)Thank you to all the people who reviewed nicely! My plotbunnies really appreciate it! *g*  
  
Please review, if you're minded to be civil and polite. If you just want to flame me, don't   
bother. If you hate this fic so much, why are you up to part 3, anyways?  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 3  
  
They awoke the next morning in darkness less complete than it had been as they slept. Looking   
around, they saw a pale glow of sunlight, slightly brightening the gloom at the archway at the   
northern end of the great Hall that they were camped in.  
  
Somewhat heartened by their first sight of sunlight in what had felt to be an eternity, they   
shared a meal with more cheer than they had felt since entering the darkness of Moria. Surely   
this day would be better than all the rest, if only because of that pale Sun-glow!  
  
Legolas, himself, was heartened as well, feeling the feelings of overwhelming darkness leave him   
nearly completely, even as once again feeling his inner light redoubled. It was to the Elf's   
great pleasure that Gandalf decided to lead them to where the sunlight shone in, hoping it was a   
window he could look out of to get an idea of which way to lead them to get out of Moria before   
another night passed; the wizard wasn't the only one there who would appreciate a look out of a   
window!  
  
The mere thought of being free of Moria was more than enough to speed their steps as they once   
again gathered up their belongings and hurried toward the northern arch where the Sun was,   
beginning what was hopefully their last day's march underground.  
  
They passed through the archway and into a long hallway. They could see now that the light came   
from inside a room on their right. They went in, blinking dazzled eyes more accustomed now to   
darkness, and looked around.  
  
As Gandalf had suspected, the light came not from a window but from a shaft that had been carved   
into the ceiling of the chamber, leading through to the outside of the mountain. The shaft of   
light shone down onto a tomb in the middle of the chamber, the carved words on the lid revealing   
it to be the tomb of the dwarf Balin, Gimli's kinsman who had led the attempt to reclaim Moria.   
  
Looking around for clues as to what had happened there, they saw the skeletal remains of many   
dead, buried in dust. And a book, so ill-used as to be now barely legible. In it, they learned   
the fate of the doomed dwarven expedition.  
  
Then the drums began to sound, echoing loudly, along with the sound of many feet on stone.  
  
They blocked the door they'd entered by, slamming the doors and wedging them shut. The foul   
creatures on the other side of the barrier beat and pounded at it, slowly shoving back the   
wedges.  
  
Then they were through.  
  
The members of the Fellowship fought grimly in melee, slaying orc after orc, goblin after goblin,   
managing finally to drive them back, repelling their attackers from the room and then managing to   
block the door once more, again wedging it shut. Then, at Gandalf's harsh urgings, they fled out   
the eastern doorway and down a long stairway.   
  
Gandalf lingered at the doorway to work some magic to slow the pursuit, then joined them not much   
later, leaning wearily on his staff, its light extinguished.  
  
Then they were hurrying again, moving ever down the stairs, down level after level, turning   
neither left nor right as they followed closely behind the wizard. They heard no sound of   
pursuit from behind them, though the sound of drums continued to fill the air and set the stone   
of walls and floor to vibrating all around them.  
  
At last they came to a large hall, even larger than that in which they had camped the night   
before. It was lit with the flickering red light of fire from a chasm that had opened up in the   
floor.  
  
Far in the distance at the far end of the hall was another chasm, this one with a narrow bridge   
crossing it. It was toward this bridge that they ran, running as fast as they could, eager to   
see the last of Moria and escape the pursuit they knew was coming after them.  
  
A few loosed orc-arrows fell among them, though none found a home in flesh. The orcs were on the   
other side of the fire-chasm, kept from them by the very means by which they had meant to trap   
them.  
  
Then the Fellowship reached the bridge.  
  
Even as they began to cross, a creature both large and terrible threw down large slabs of stone   
across the flaming chasm and crossed over, followed by the orcs and goblins, who kept a healthy   
distance from the creatures of darkness and flame.  
  
A Balrog.  
  
The members of the Fellowship crossed the bridge and made for the stairs leading up on the other   
side.   
  
All, that was, save for Gandalf.  
  
He had seen the Balrog, recognised what it was. He knew that he was the only member of the   
Fellowship capable of facing the monster. And so he stayed, waiting for the evil creature,   
leaning on his staff in the middle of the bridge, his brightly glowing sword Glamdring in hand.  
  
The rest of the Company paused at the bottom of the stairs upon realizing that Gandalf was not   
among them. They watched as he waited on the Bridge.  
  
They watched as he fought the Balrog, shattering its sword of darkness with his sword of light.  
  
They watched as he broke the Bridge with his staff, sending the Balrog plummeting into the   
unfathomed darkness that was the chasm.  
  
They watched, horror-stricken, as the Balrog's many-thonged whip snapped up a final time even as   
the monster fell and wrapped itself around Gandalf's knees, pulling him from the Bridge.  
  
They watched in disbelief as he fell from sight into darkness.  
  
An arrow clattering on the stone at their feet roused them from their shock enough to turn and   
flee away up the stairs, following the path out that Gandalf had told them of before they had   
crossed the Hall.  
  
Then they were out of Moria, running away down the Dimrill Dale, eyes dazzled by the bright   
sunlight and their sadness and shock at the unexpected loss of Gandalf.  
  
They had time to pause only for a moment as their grief overwhelmed them, then they had to force   
it back and continue on, for they had to be far away by the time that night fell and the evil   
creatures set forth from Moria in pursuit of them.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, please review! *g* Next stop: Lothlorien and *strange* revelations. *g* Gotta feel sorry for   
that poor Elf. So. Any guesses? *g* 


	4. Unexpected surprises in Lorien

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Thoughts are in / /.  
  
Please review! *g* No flames, please. If you don't like it so much, how come you're at chapter 4?  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 4  
  
The eight remaining members of the Fellowship walked quickly away from Moria's eastern gate, left   
the Dimrill Dale far behind them as they hurried on, trying to reach the hopeful safety of the   
Golden Wood before nightfall.  
  
Though their quick pace left the world of dark halls far behind, it was ever with them in their   
thoughts, for none could forget that last run and the fall of the only one among them that they   
had thought undefeatable. To have had that proven wrong in such a hard way left them all numb   
with shock and near-despair, for how could they even hope to succeed when one so mighty had   
fallen so soon into the Quest?  
  
And so it was with heavy hearts that they finally reached the Golden Wood of Lothlorien, home to   
the Galadhrim Elves who were ruled over by Celeborn the wise and Galadriel the fair.  
  
Darkness was falling all about them ere they reached the forest's western borders. Hoping the   
wood would grant them some measure of safety from the orcs and goblins that they knew would   
probably pour forth from Moria in pursuit, they walked quickly into the wood a ways, then looked   
around at the silvery mallorn trees, looking for a likely tree in which to spend the night.  
  
None of them wished to stay on the ground that night, perhaps to be found by evil creatures.  
  
But the first tree they tried was... already occupied.  
  
Legolas dropped back down to the ground at the firm order from the branches above, went to stand   
with his companions.  
  
Then the grey-clad Elf dropped down from above, bow drawn and ready. He looked anything *but*   
pleased at their intrusion into the wood. He looked even *less* pleased when he heard that there   
would probably be a large force of orcs coming in after them.  
  
It was with reluctance, therefore, that he agreed to put them up for the night and guide them to   
the capital city to meet with Celeborn and Galadriel the next day.  
  
Haldir of Lorien got his first true look at Legolas as the members of the Fellowship separated to   
climb up the silvery rope ladders to their sleeping-spaces on platforms high off the ground in   
the branches of the mallorn.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked Legolas as the other made to follow his companions. His eyes grew even   
wider the longer he looked at the other, and he seemed deeply shocked by *something*.  
  
"I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil, of North Mirkwood," Legolas replied. /Why is he looking at   
me like that? Do I have something embarrassing on my face?/ "And you are...?"  
  
"Haldir," came the reply as the grey-clad Elf shook himself loose of his dazed state. "Will you   
share our talan with my brothers and I, Legolas?"(1)  
  
Still somewhat confused, Legolas hesitated a long moment before nodding his acceptance. "Yes,   
thank you."  
  
  
  
It was a while before everyone was settled to their satisfaction, as nearly everyone in the   
Fellowship was uneasy about sleeping high in a tree on the railless platforms.  
  
Legolas sat on one of the platforms with Haldir and his brothers Rumil and Orophin, who spoke   
together in hushed whispers, casting the occasional disbelieving stare at the golden-haired   
Mirkwood Elf.  
  
All at once, the tension in him crested, broke free.  
  
"What?" he hissed at the trio.  
  
"Legolas?" Haldir asked. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Why are you staring at me like that?" came the reply.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
A hissed sigh. "Like as if I had turned blue and grown three extra heads."  
  
Haldir and his brothers shared a glance. "You do not know?" he asked at last.  
  
Legolas closed his eyes and counted to ten. Again. And once again, in Quenya this time, for   
variety. Then he opened his eyes and glared. "No," he hissed from between clenched teeth.  
  
The grey-clad trio exchanged another glance. "I do not think that we should tell you," Haldir   
said at last. "If you sense nothing different, it is possible that we are mistaken." He looked   
relieved. "Surely it would be impossible anyway, and yet..." He shook his head. "It has been   
long and long again since any of our northern kin have come to us, and a Prince beside... we must   
be mistaken. And if we are not, surely the Lady will see and speak to you of it."  
  
"But you shall not," Legolas said flatly. /What are they speaking of?/ he wondered. /It is   
something in me, something I should be able to sense... bah! There is naught ill with me. I   
feel more well inside than I have for a long time, even with the loss of Mithrandir. Feeling   
well is hardly something to worry about./  
  
"No," Haldir confirmed.  
  
"So be it," Legolas said. He turned away from the three Galadhrim, cast himself down on the   
talan to rest and spoke no more to them that night.  
  
  
  
The next morning, Haldir led the Fellowship into the Wood until at last they came to the city of   
the Galadhrim, where dwelt the Lord and Lady of the Wood.  
  
They arrived in the evening and were led to a recieving hall where they were met by the rulers of   
Lothlorien.  
  
The Lord Celeborn sat on his high seat, watching quietly as the Lady Galadriel gracefully greeted   
each of their guests in turn, calling them by name and offering them the hospitality of the Elves.  
  
Last to be greeted was Legolas.  
  
"Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood," she said as she turned to face him. "Be   
welcome in Loth-" she broke off, staring. She looked him over from head to toe, her face paling   
even as her eyes grew wide and dark with shock. She reached out a trembling hand to touch his   
face, withdrew it as though burned by even that light touch. "What have you done?" she breathed.   
"How is this possible?"  
  
"Dearest one?" Celeborn asked in concern, rising and moving to Galadriel's side. "What is it?"  
  
Legolas was staring at her, confused and a bit worried. /What is it about me that upsets them   
so?/ he wondered. /First Haldir and his brothers, now the Lady Galadriel. What is it?/  
  
"Legolas?" It was Aragorn.  
  
The Mirkwood Elf looked over, saw the other seven of the Fellowship staring at him in confusion.   
"What?"  
  
"What is she talking about? What did you do?"  
  
/One. Two. Three./ A deep breath. Another. /Four. Five. Six.../  
  
"I do not know," Legolas said. "They tell me not."  
  
"You do not know?" came Galadreil's incredulous voice.  
  
Legolas turned back to her in frustration. "No."  
  
"Legolas," she said, going even paler as she watched him. "I know not how such a thing was   
accomplished; it should be impossible. But apparently you are proof that that belief is wrong."  
  
"What belief?" he asked, barely managing to keep his frustration-filled voice level. "Lady,   
please. Tell me."  
  
Galadriel clasped her Lord's hand, leaned toward him for support. "Legolas," she said. "Your   
inner light is so strong. It is only ever seen this strong in those Elves who are with child.   
Legolas, you are pregnant."  
  
Legolas burst out laughing. /Surely they do not believe that!/ he thought. Then he noticed that   
no one else was laughing. His laughter trailed off and he looked around.  
  
The members of the Fellowship were staring at him in shocked disbelief. The Elves were staring   
at him in shocked awe. He swallowed hard. /They do not believe that... do they?/  
  
"Lady?" he asked, shocked to hear his own voice crack and tremble. "Lady, surely there is some   
sort of mistake...." She was already shaking her head in negation even as he continued. "I am   
not pr-... I *can not* be pr-... I'm male! I.... You.... But, I *can't*..."  
  
Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, collapsed unconscious to the floor   
of the recieving chamber.  
  
TBC...  
  
(1)talan= the grey-elven word for those platforms in the mallorn trees.  
  
  
Okay, how many of you saw *that* coming? :) So, what did you think? Let me know! *g* My   
plotbunnies want to hear from you! *g* 


	5. Realizations...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Wow! Look at all those reviews! Thanks! I never expected *that*; after 11 reviews for ch. 1, the   
next 2 chapters only got 4 reviews each- I thought that interest in this fic had plummeted! Boy,   
was I wrong! *g* This is the kind of wrong that you like to be, though! *g* Thanks & keep it up!   
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 5  
  
There was no long, gradual rise from the black unconsciousness to full awareness. It was as   
abrupt as long years of training could make it, knowing that one day that small time could mean   
the difference between life and death. One instant he was oblivious to the world, the next, he   
was blinking up at the pale ceiling above him, fully awake and alert.  
  
He frowned slightly, lying still upon the floor as he tried to remember what had been so shocking   
that he'd passed out. Galadriel. It was something *she* had said, he knew it was.  
  
Then full memory came surging back and he gasped in shock. Galadriel's revelation, then the   
realization....  
  
A curly-haired head came into view above him, looking down at him in concern. The hobbit- Merry-   
smiled to see him conscious, then turned his head to someone else and called, "hey! He's awake!"  
  
Two more hobbits- Frodo and Pippin- joined Merry in staring down at him. Over their shoulders,   
he could see Boromir and Gimli standing over him as well.  
  
"Are you all right?" Frodo asked in concern.  
  
"I am fine, Frodo," he assured, smiling faintly. "And Legolas?"  
  
"He hit the floor almost exactly when you did, Strider," Pippin said. "He's not awake yet."  
  
Aragorn rose to his feet, shook his head to clear the last cobwebs of unconsciousness, then went   
over to where Legolas lay on the floor, being attended by Sam and a trio of grey-clad Galadhrim   
as Celeborn and Galadriel looked on.  
  
Seeing the Prince of Mirkwood brought home exactly what had happened.   
  
Legolas was pregnant. It was crazy, it was impossible... it was happening now. And it was his   
fault.  
  
He was the father. Well, *a* father, since Legolas didn't really seem a *mother* exactly, child   
or no child. The simple fact remained that somehow, no matter that it was impossible, no matter   
that it was contrary to the nature of Elves and Men, he had gotten Legolas pregnant.  
  
He hadn't meant to; Legolas was his friend, only that. Who would have thought that what was only   
meant to be an exchange of comfort between friends in a dark place would have such impossible   
consequences? Neither Aragorn nor Legolas had ever seen each other as a possible mate, and would   
laugh at the concept even now... though there would have to be something done to even the debt   
between them.  
  
And speaking of consequences... Arwen was going to *kill* him when she found out! And if *she*   
didn't, chances are Elrond or his sons would be angry enough to do it for her, to say nothing of   
Legolas' father, King Thranduil of North Mirkwood!  
  
Of course, that was all assuming that *Legolas* wouldn't kill him once he regained consciousness,   
which was entirely possible. Likely, even.  
  
Suddenly, the world was a lot more dangerous for a Ranger named Aragorn. He was glad then that   
he was only going to Mordor to face the Dark Lord, absolute evil embodied, instead of having to   
face Legolas' father....  
  
Legolas made a faint sound, blinked open eyes that had been unnaturally closed with   
unconsciousness. A faint frown wrinkled the smooth brow as the Elf tried to recall why he was   
lying on the floor of the recieving chamber. Emerald eyes widened as he, too, remembered   
Galadriel's revelation. Legolas sat up, head turning to stare in Aragorn's direction, confusion,   
fear and anger flashing in the Elf's green eyes. "*You*," was all he said.  
  
Aragorn gulped. "Yes, Legolas?" he asked faintly.  
  
"First, I want to speak with the Lady Galadriel," the Elf said, standing. "*Then* you and I are   
going to have a Talk."  
  
"Talk?" Aragorn repeated. /I hope by 'talk' he means 'we'll have civilized conversation' instead   
of 'I'm going to rip your still-beating heart out and eat it'./ he thought.  
  
"Talk," Legolas said firmly. Then he and the Lady Galadriel left the chamber, making their way   
down to the ground and to Galadriel's secret clearing.  
  
Aragorn watched the two leave, barely able to keep back the urge to run away as fast as he could.   
He looked to Frodo and made himself remember his oath to see this Quest through to its conclusion.   
He *couldn't* abandon the Fellowship.  
  
Celeborn invited the remaining companions to return to the ground and to a pavilion that had been   
set up for them. Food would be brought to them there, and they would have the opportunity to   
rest and refresh themselves.  
  
Aragorn followed numbly after the others, then lay listless and unsleeping on one of the couches   
in the pavilion, waiting in apprehension for Legolas to return for their 'Talk'.  
  
  
  
Several hours had passed before Mirkwood's Prince made his appearance. Completely ignoring   
Aragorn, he went and served himself a late supper, ate it. Then he went over to an unoccupied   
couch and lay down.  
  
"Go to sleep, Aragorn," he said as he drifted off. "We'll talk in the morning."  
  
Aragorn lay on his couch sleeplessly for a long time before drifting off. But his sleep was   
broken and fragmented and he got not much rest that night.  
  
Legolas slept... like a baby.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
*g* Poor Aragorn. My plotbunnies made me do it! *g* The next part will be posted after I find   
some good info on the whole pregnancy timeline. I found several sources today on the 'net, but   
they mostly contradicted each other. *sigh* If anyone out there can help (I know next to nothing   
about pregnancy timelines and what L. should be going through as this goes on!), send me an email   
at rabid_plotbunny@HotPOP.com !   
  
Thanks! Please review! *g* 


	6. Musings...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For discalaimer, see part 1.  
  
Please review! *g*  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 6  
  
The Fellowship awoke the next morning on their first full day in the capital city of Lothlorien.   
They shared a quiet breakfast, then Legolas gave Aragorn a pointed Look and gestured for him to   
follow.  
  
With a sigh, Aragorn followed the Elf from the clearing. He had barely gotten any sleep the   
night before, apprehension running through him, and was still very tired. His eyes were gritty   
with the need for sleep and his step was hesitant. The one stretch of true sleep he'd gotten   
had been filled with nightmares about the probable reactions of not only Legolas' father, but   
also his foster family and betrothed. He was certain that Elrond and his sons would be   
practically rabid when they found out what Aragorn had somehow managed to do, and Arwen! Aragorn   
winced away from the thought. He didn't even want to *imagine* what *her* reaction would be!  
  
  
  
The other members of the Fellowship watched as Aragorn followed Legolas out of the clearing and   
into the woods of Lorien.  
  
Merry turned to Pippin. "Can you imagine what Legolas is going to look like, pregnant?" he asked,   
smirking. "Can you even imagine him *pregnant* to start with?"  
  
"No," Pippin answered. "But he is anyway, hey?"  
  
"Galadriel said so. I wonder how he got himself pregnant."  
  
"I dunno. I just hope it isn't contagious. Did you see how he just went white and keeled over   
when she told him? One second he's fine, the next, bam! Out like a light."  
  
"Yup. Strider, too. The thought of Legolas pregnant must've been too much for him; he's been   
really stressed since Gandalf died. Who do you think is the father?"  
  
"Legolas, idiot!"  
  
"No, I mean the other one," Merry said, lightly hitting his cousin upside the head. "I don't   
think Legolas did this to himself!"  
  
"Oh," Pippin said. "Well, it's not me."  
  
"Me, either."  
  
"Boromir?" Pippin suggested.  
  
"No," Merry said. "He won't even *talk* to Legolas since the Elf told him off in front of the   
Council in Rivendell."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Well, he *was* picking on Strider, so I guess he deserved it. Umm, let's see. You,   
me, Boromir. Sam? He likes Elves."  
  
"He's glued to Frodo. It can't be him. Frodo?" Merry said.  
  
"No, same reason. Who's left? Gimli?"  
  
The two looked to each other, remembering all the petty fights between dwarf and Elf. They burst   
out laughing.  
  
"Okay, not Gimli," Pippin said, still chuckling at the image. "Strider? He grew up in Rivendell   
with Elves."  
  
"C'mon, Pip," Merry said. "Strider? I mean sure he acts like an Elf sometimes, walks quiet like   
one, likes the same things, thinks like them and is going to marry one, but really now. Strider?"  
  
"Well, he *did* keel over when the Lady told Legolas-"  
  
"So? I almost did, too. And I saw you turn green, so you can't say *you* didn't almost hit the   
floor as well."  
  
"You've got a point. But why did Legolas want to talk speak with him so urgently today, then?   
Poor Strider didn't look too well, either."  
  
"Pip, Strider knows healing-stuff, remember? Legolas probably just wants to get checked over."  
  
"Good point," Pippin said. "Guess this means we know who the father is, hmm? Poor Legolas must   
be so sad."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What are you two going on about over here?" Gimli asked with his usual tact.  
  
"We figured out who's the other father of Legolas' kid," Merry said.  
  
The rest of the Fellowship, except for the absent Elf and Ranger, gathered close to hear the two   
hobbits' guess.  
  
"Who?" Gimli asked.  
  
Merry and Pippin shared a glance, nodded sadly.  
  
"Gandalf," they said.  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
*g* Poor Merry and Pippin! So logical and yet so wrong! *g* Next chapter: Legolas and Aragorn's   
"Talk", and their return to the sympathies of the Fellowship. Confusion abounds! *g* Please   
feed a plotbunny: Review! *g* 


	7. 'Talk' and Confusion

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! ;) Yes, this is the Talk chapter. Legolas gets frustrated, so   
does Aragorn, and *everybody* gets confused at least once. *g* I decided to make Legolas go a bit   
easy on Aragorn. I figure he'll have enough time to throw tantrums later on, when he starts to   
'show'. ;)  
  
Also, a somewhat-belated thanks to everyone who sent pregnancy info. I just remembered that I   
didn't say this last chapter. Sorry! ;)  
  
Please review! ;)  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 7  
  
Legolas led Aragorn out of the breakfast clearing and away from the others of the Fellowship.   
Walking out into the mallorn-wood of Lorien, he clearly heard Aragorn's reluctance in every heavy   
step the usually near-silent Ranger took.  
  
/What does *he* have to be so upset about?/ Legolas thought in annoyance. /It's not as if *he*   
is the pregnant one of the two of us!/  
  
The Elf kept walking, every apprehensive step made by his companion compounding the annoyance   
growing in him. Finally, well out of earshot of any of their companions, the frustration was   
just too much. He turned on Aragorn, green eyes sparking angrily.  
  
"*What* is wrong with *you*?" he half-yelled.  
  
Aragorn took a cautious step back, away from the Elf. /What brought this on?/ he wondered.   
"Legolas?" he asked. "What-?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about!" the Elf hissed, eyes glittering with a light that was a short   
step from homicidal.  
  
Or at least that's what it looked like to Aragorn. He took another cautious step back.  
  
"You did this to me, human!" the ELf spat angrily. "You somehow managed to get me *pregnant*,   
and now you're walking around as if *you're* the one whose life is about to change! *You're* not   
the one carrying a child! *You're* not the one who is going to get fat with it. *You're* not   
the one who is going to have to *birth* this child! So *why* are you acting like you're going to   
your own funeral?"  
  
Aragorn blinked at the unexpected outburst from the usually-calm Prince of Mirkwood. Then he   
actually *heard* what the other had said and a glare found its way onto *his* face. "Oh, no!   
Don't you be pinning all this on me!" he said, angry voice kept low with effort. "I seem to   
recall you were more than willing at the time. For all we know, that *need* you had was what let   
this all happen in the first place!"  
  
Legolas' face went from angry red to bloodlessly pale, eyes wide. /He could be right,/ he   
thought in shock. /I *was* trying so hard to keep the darkness away and increase my inner   
light... *could* that be how this happened?/  
  
"And as for why I look like I'm going to my own funeral, here are a few reasons," Aragorn said.   
He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. "Thranduil. Arwen. Elrond. Elrohir. Elladan.   
Glorfindel, for all I know." He smiled grimly. "Compared to facing them, going to Mordor to   
fight the embodiment of absolute evil is a lot safer."  
  
Legolas chuckled grimly. "It would seem so," he said. Then he paled. "Father," he said. He   
sank down to the moss at the foot of a mallorn tree, leaned back against the silvery bark with a   
tired, confused sigh. "Father is going to *kill* me," he moaned. "Aragorn, what am I going to   
do? I will *not* abandon the Fellowship. And yet, I will have to stop, when the time comes."  
  
Aragorn sank to the moss by another tree. "That's your choice, Legolas. You *know* that if at   
all possible, we will all wait for you and help in any way we can. But the oaths we swore in   
Rivendell were not meant for such occurrences as this. Don't endanger yourself because of it.   
If you think you should stay here, then stay. None of us will think less of you for it."  
  
Legolas sighed again. "I don't know what to do. I do not want to leave the Fellowship. I will   
stay with it as long as I am able, then rejoin it when I can."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Think about it, Legolas. We are staying here in Lorien for perhaps a month.   
Use the time to ask the counsel of the Lady Galadriel and the healers. Learn what you need to   
know. Then, make your choices."  
  
Legolas nodded. "Sound advice, my friend," he said. A grim chuckle escaped him. "Do you   
realize that the child I carry will be Heir to both Gondor and Mirkwood? It is a strange thing   
to think of, nearly as strange as me being pregnant in the first place."  
  
Aragorn swallowed harshly. "Arwen is going to kill me."  
  
The Mirkwood Elf smiled, stood. "Come, let us return. Surely, the others must fear for your   
life by now."  
  
  
  
They got back to the breakfast clearing to see the rest of the Fellowship gathered close around   
the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. Shocked pity was apparent on most faces. Only Frodo was shaking   
his head, frowning.  
  
"-don't think so," Frodo was saying. He broke off as he saw Legolas and Aragorn enter the   
clearing.  
  
Then the others noticed and went to flock around the Elf, a babble of nearly-indecipherable   
voices rising from them.  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
"Sit down! You have to-"  
  
"-hungry? I'll get food-"  
  
"-so sorry-"  
  
"-must be so sad-"  
  
"-terrible-"  
  
"-more bread? Water?"  
  
"-relax. In your condition-"  
  
Legolas was pulled over to a couch and lain down upon it, a cool towel placed on his head,   
blankets smoothed over him, food and drink brough to him. Aragorn watched in bemusement as the   
Elf was forcibly tended to, the others ignoring all the Elf's protests as they hovered anxiously   
over him.  
  
Finally, Legolas was once again fed up.  
  
"Enough!" he yelled, causing his companions to instantly quiet, and attract curious glances from   
passing Galadhrim. He sat up, threw off towel and blankets, pushed away hands that held food and   
drink out to him. "What is this all about?"  
  
Merry looked to the Elf, eyes dark with concern and sadness. "We didn't want you to be sad,   
Legolas. What with Gandalf dead and you being pregnant."  
  
Legolas looked confused. The hobbit's tone implied some sort of connection between the two events   
and he saw none. "I am grieved by M-Mithrandir's p-passing, yes. But you seem to imply something   
more, and I'm not sure-"  
  
"See, Merry," Frodo cut in. "I *told* you Gandalf wasn't the father!"  
  
The Elf choked, was pounded helpfully on the back by the dwarf, Gimli. "Gandalf?!" he squeaked.   
He batted away Gimli's pounding hands, glaring. "Touch me once more, dwarf, and you'll be known   
as Gimli One-Handed!" He turned back to the hobbits. "You thought that I- that *Mithrandir*-"   
The Prince's face screwed up in shocked disgust.  
  
Merry and Pippin looked disappointed. The others just looked curious. It had been such a   
logical conclusion! "But if it wasn't Gandalf, who was it?" Pippin asked at last, once Legolas   
had calmed slightly. "We eliminated everyone else in the Fellowship!"  
  
"And it's not as if you just woke up one day pregnant," Merry assed. He frowned slightly at a   
thought. "You... *do* know where babies come from, don't you, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas blushed bright red at the question, prompting laughter from his companions. "Of *course*   
I know where babies come from!"  
  
"So who'd the father?" Pippin asked. "The other one, I mean."  
  
Blush still slowly fading, Legolas frowned. "I can't say," he said. "It would cause too many   
problems."  
  
"Problems?" asked Pippin. "We're going to fight the Great Evil Bad Guy. What could be scarier   
than that?"  
  
"Parents," Merry said with a shudder that was quickly echoed by nearly every other member of the   
Fellowship. He looked back to Legolas. "But we won't tell anyone, really. Please?"  
  
The Elf sighed, shook his head in defeat. He knew that once the hobbits got such a question in   
their heads, they wouldn't let it go until he answered them. "All right. But you have to swear   
you will not tell anyone."  
  
The chorus of promises came from everyone in the fellowship, who looked to the Elf, eager to know   
the answer.  
  
The Prince of Mirkwood sighed again, then spoke only a single word. "Aragorn."  
  
The six startled companions looked from the Elf to the Ranger and back again.  
  
Then Merry began to chuckle, soon joined by the rest of the six. "Strider, you're in biiiiiig   
trouble," was all he said, all he *needed* to say.  
  
Aragorn only moaned.  
  
TBC... 


	8. One week later...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Feed a plotbunny: review! :)  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 8  
  
Strider woke up one morning nearly a week later to the sounds of someone being violently ill. He   
groaned. "Not again," he grumbled. Sitting up, he looked around to see most of the other members   
of the Fellowship awake as well, some of them green-faced at the sounds drifting in on the wind.  
  
Legolas was nearby, hunched over on the ground beside a bush, yet again being a miserable victim   
of the morning sickness. His lithe body was wracked by fierce shudders and convulsions as he   
heaved up the meagre contents of his stomach onto the ground.  
  
"Aragorn," Boromir said upon noticing the newly-awakened Ranger. He grimaced at the renewed   
sounds of sickness from the Elf. "Surely, there must be something we can do," he complained.   
"Could we not house the Elf somewhere where we would not have to wake to this every morning?"  
  
Mirkwood's Prince had been having these bouts of sickness for nearly four days now, and the other   
members of the Fellowship had had just about all they could take.  
  
Aragorn looked to the Elf, saw him stand and shakily wander off into the woods, presumably to   
find something to wash away the taste, or to continue in privacy. He made it perhaps ten steps   
before the heaves sent him to the ground beside another bush. Luckily, that one was far enough   
away that the company wasn't bothered by the sounds of sick Elf.  
  
"I'll go get some of that tea that helped him yesterday," Aragorn offered. "As for the rest, it   
would not be right to send Legolas away. It is not his fault that the sickness takes him every   
morning."  
  
"No," Gimli agreed gruffly. "It's *yours*."  
  
Aragorn frowned. "I know that full well, son of Gloin. Do you think that I planned this?"  
  
"So it was a spur-of-the-moment thing?" Boromir asked, grinning wolfishly. "I must admit the Elf   
is every bit as pretty as a girl, but to actually *do* anything about it-"  
  
"That's not what happened!" Aragorn protested. "And I would thank you to stop. I have enough to   
worry about without this."  
  
"Oh? Such as?" Gimli asked.  
  
"Family; Arwen's and Legolas'."  
  
"And Arwen herself," Boromir chuckled. "Yes, you *do* have problems enough. But still, none of   
us can rest well knowing what we will wake to."  
  
"I'll see what I can do," Aragorn said. "Surely, this can't last for much longer anyway!"  
  
Boromir shook his head with a wry chuckle. "My third cousin twice removed was telling me once   
that *his* wife's sister had the morning sickness the whole time; from the start of her pregnancy   
until she birthed."  
  
Aragorn went pale. "The... whole... No...." He shook his head. "I must speak with the Lady   
Galadriel about this."  
  
The Ranger turned, left the pavilion on his way to seek out the Lady of Lorien.  
  
"Don't forget to ask about moving the Elf!" Gimli called after him.  
  
  
  
It was noon before Aragorn returned to join the others for the noon meal. The hobbits, Boromir   
and Gimli ate heartily everything that was placed in front of them. Legolas picked at his food,   
showing a distinct lack of appetite as he managed to finish barely a fourth of the small portion   
he had been given. Merry and Pippin quickly claimed his uneaten food, as they'd only had six   
large servings and were starving.  
  
He was quiet as he sat there and ate, his head full of the memory of his talk with Galadriel. So   
many of the phases Legolas would go through were similar to those of a human woman, though for   
Elves pregnancy usually lasted for twelve or thirteen months instead of nine.  
  
Aragorn had managed to get Legolas moved somewhere else; the Lady Galadriel was having him moved   
to the quarters she shared with Celeborn so she could keep a watchful eye on his condition. Even   
as they ate, grey-clad Galadhrim bore Legolas' things away to his new living space.  
  
Legolas didn't react much to the announcement of his move, simply got up and followed the helpful   
grey-clad Elves to where he would be staying.  
  
The other members of the Fellowship were careful to keep their relief at the move hidden from him,   
only showing it when they were certain that he was well out of earshot.  
  
To show their gratitude, the four hobbits regaled Aragorn with pregnancy horror stories they knew   
about their cousins, aunts, grandmothers and every other female they'd ever heard one about.   
Gimli and Boromir joined in the fun as well, laughing as telling by telling, Aragorn grew paler   
and paler.  
  
The rest of the day passed in that way, then they settled down that night on the couches in their   
pavilion to sleep, Elf-less.  
  
  
  
Aragorn was awakened the next morning perhaps an hour before dawn not by the sounds of Legolas   
being sick but by the sound of quiet, furtive movement inside the pavilion. He opened his eyes,   
sat up and looked over.  
  
He was somewhat startled to see a somewhat unsettled-looking Celeborn standing there, laying   
blankets out on another couch, the one Legolas had occupied.  
  
"Legolas returns to us?" the Ranger asked quietly, careful not to wake the others.  
  
Celeborn hesitated slightly, then shook his silver-haired head. "No. He remains with my Lady."  
  
"And the bed?"  
  
"For me. I could not stand to be near Galadriel when she had the sickness, and I can stand the   
sound of a pregnant male Elf being sick no better than I could my Lady. I shall sleep here until   
he is no longer afflicted."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Be welcome, then."  
  
Celeborn nodded, lay himself down upon the couch, pulling the blankets softly over himself.  
  
Aragorn slowly drifted off to sleep once more to the deep, even breathing of the sleeping   
Fellowship and the nearly-silent breaths of the Lord of Lorien.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Poor Celeborn! *g* Kicked out of his own room by the sound of morning sickness! *g* And Legolas,   
the one who is sick! And everybody else in earshot! *g*  
  
So, what did you think of this chapter? Let the plotbunnies know: review! Please? ;o) 


	9. Leaving Lorien...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
A/N: 1)Okay, I just re-checked the timeline for LotR. Nooooo! Well, I can only say I know when I   
want him to give birth, and to make it fit, I'm going to have to stretch out the timeline a bit.   
So, it'll be about a year between them leaving Lorien and kicking Sauron's disembodied flaming   
eyeball back to wherever, ok? ;o) It seems much more believable to me that way as well; I know   
that I could walk very far in a day if I wanted to, but they zigzag the south of Middle-Earth, go   
all over the place, and are all done in a bit over a month? I just don't know about that.  
  
2)Sorry it's taken so long for this chapter to be posted. The plotbunnies just got distracted   
with my other fic and couldn't think of how to continue this one. They're still stuck, so it'll   
probably be a while before the next update as well. *sigh* Why couldn't I get the *constantly-  
working* plotbunnies? ;o)  
  
3)A huge, Balrog-sized thanks!!! to everyone who reviewed! ;o)  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 9  
  
The members of the Fellowship had been startled to see Celeborn sleeping in the pavilion with   
them when they awakened the morning after Legolas had been moved, but had since grown used to the   
silver-haired Elf's company. They had also learned that he had a wicked sense of humor   
underneath the calm facade, and also that he was not nearly as unapproachable as they had at   
first thought him to be. He was still away most of the time, attending to his duties as Lord of   
Lorien, but yet he returned every night and spent some time speaking with them before seeking his   
rest.  
  
For the rest of their stay in the Golden Wood, the members of the Fellowship only occasionally   
saw Legolas, for he was often away with the healers or the Lady Galadriel, learning more than he   
ever had wanted to know about pregnancy. Occasionally, he joined the company for a meal, but he   
still slept elsewhere, for he was still taken daily by the morning sickness.  
  
The rest of the Fellowship spent the time in Lorien recovering from their hard journey and the   
loss of their guide, and resting up for the next leg of the Quest.  
  
A month had passed in this way since they had come to Lothlorien, and finally it was time for   
them to continue on their way.  
  
They were given boats and other supplies by the Galadhrim; cloaks, blankets, lembas, ropes.   
Legolas was given a special batch of lembas because of his condition; his was colored red and   
contained spices and herbs to soothe the stomach and other ills, as well as the same ingredients   
the normal kind of waybread had. Galadriel also gave each member of the company a gift suited to   
his needs. Legolas was happy with his gift of bow and arrows of Galadhrim make, as well as the   
soft grey Elven-cloak, though he blushed a brilliant red when Galadriel also gave him a book   
about Elvish pregnancy. Aragorn blushed the same red when Galadriel also gave *him* a copy of   
the same book, as well as another one of midwifery information.  
  
Finally, once all the gifts were given, the eight remaining members of the Fellowship got into   
the three grey boats they had been gifted with and pushed out into the river, then left Lothlorien   
behind. Aragorn shared his boat with Frodo and Sam, Boromir shared his with Merry and Pippin,   
and Legolas shared his boat with Gimli and the majority of the Fellowship's baggage.  
  
They paddled down the river until they reached the Anduin.   
  
Aragorn was somewhat startled when Legolas' boat nudged his slightly from one side. "Legolas!"   
he said, "you're too close. Move further out."  
  
The Elf did nothing, his boat nudging Aragorn's again.  
  
"Legolas!" Aragorn said in budding frustration. He looked back to where the Elf sat in his boat,   
saw him sitting there, staring blankly ahead, oar across his legs, out of the water. Gimli was   
sitting very still in the boat, seeming barely daring to breathe, his face a sickly shade of   
green. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth were gritted and he wasn't even muttering about   
the Elf's steering. "Turn aside!"  
  
Again Legolas did nothing, his boat continuing to follow Aragorn's too closely.  
  
Then the Ranger noticed that Legolas did not seem to be moving at all. "Legolas?" he asked.   
There was no reply. He had not expected one, knowing now what ailed the Elf. "Boromir! Come up   
on the Elf's other side. We'll trap his boat between us and guide it to the shore!"  
  
Soon, the three boats were beached once more, after only a couple of hours travel. Aragorn went   
over to where Legolas still sat up in the boat, oar across his lap, deep in the realms of Elven   
dreams.  
  
"What is this, Aragorn?" Gimli asked. He seemed much recovered now that his feet were firmly   
planted on solid ground. "What ails the Elf now?"  
  
"Nothing, Gimli," came the reply as the Ranger flipped through one of the books the Lady had   
given him. He found the page he was looking for, nodded as he read. "It says in here that he'll   
get tired easily for some time, and sleep much. That must be what happened."  
  
"Sleeping while paddling a boat is not a good idea, my friend," the dwarf said. "Perhaps one of   
the boat-handling hobbits could switch places with me and paddle the Elf's boat, leaving him to   
sleep as long as he likes."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Yes," he said. "Merry! Take over the paddling for Legolas on that boat. For   
we must keep going, but he can't stay awake long enough."  
  
Merry nodded, went to take the paddle from the Elf. After nearly five minutes of prying at the   
slender fingers, Merry conceded defeat. "Strider! He won't let go of the paddle!"  
  
At last, everyone was sorted out again, and they were once again ready to depart. Legolas hadn't   
awakened the whole time. The Ranger had placed the Elf carefully in the bottom of his boat,   
covered gently with a blanket, nestled cozily among the baggage.  
  
***  
  
It was in the afternoon when Legolas awoke. He was much embarrassed at having fallen asleep,   
even more so at being forbidden to paddle for fear that it would happen again. Muttering quietly   
to himself about paranoid companions, he settled back down in the boat and began to read some of   
the book he had been given, nibbling on one of his special lembas. His eyes grew wider and wider   
the more he read, his face paler and paler. Then his eyes started to glaze again and he was soon   
lost once again in dreams, much to the amusement of his boat-companion.  
  
Their progress down the river was also slowed by the discovery of yet another unpleasant fact:   
Gimli suffered most horribly from motion-sickness from the rocking of the boat, and proclaimed   
loudly to anyone who could hear that he was certainly about to die, that dwarves were allergic to   
moving bodies of water, and couldn't these dratted boats go any slower and smoother?  
  
For Gimli's sake, as well as that of the peacefully-sleeping Elf, Aragorn decided to stop and   
make camp several hours before he had planned to.  
  
As they set up camp that afternoon, Aragorn could see that their trip down the Anduin was going   
to take a lot longer than any of them had foreseen.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Poor Gimli! ;) Poor sleepyhead Legolas! Not much went on in this chapter, I know, but hopefully   
it'll get better next time. Ideas/suggestions are always eaten up by plotbunnies, especially   
when their author is running out of things to torment the poor Elf with! Help!! ;o) 


	10. Down the Anduin

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Thanks to everybody for the great reviews last chapter! Hopefully, the plotbunnies will decide to   
bite sooner for the next chapter! Reviews help! ;)  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 10  
  
Four days later, the company was no further down the Anduin than a single day's journey would   
have gotten them had Legolas and Gimli been their usual selves. Gimli still suffered from the   
motion-sickness. The Elf was still easily tired and often asleep. When he wasn't, he had become   
somewhat irritable and snappish, and very sensitive about his condition. The rest of the   
Fellowship suffered as well, because of the two. They had found that the sounds of a sick dwarf   
were even *worse* than that of a sick Elf, and Gimli's loud and constant complaining had almost   
everyone gritting their teeth in frustration and often imagining things they could do to him to   
get him to be quiet. The only one who did not seem to be bothered was Legolas, but that might   
have been because he was asleep most of the time.  
  
"Aragorn!" came Gimli's call as he looked over from where he sat in Boromir's boat. "Surely we   
shall stop soon?" He was going to say more, but just then the sickness claimed him again.  
  
Aragorn sighed in frustration. They had gone barely an hour's journey, and already the dwarf   
wanted to stop? At that rate, they'd all be dead of old age before they reached the point where   
he'd planned to leave the river!  
  
Then Legolas woke up, sat up in the boat from where he'd lain curled up amongst the baggage.   
"Aragorn?" he called. "Are we almost there?"  
  
"No," Aragorn answered with gritted teeth.  
  
"Elf," Gimli growled, "if we were *there*, we would have *stopped* already! Right, Aragorn?"  
  
"Dwarf," came the snapped reply as Elven eyes narrowed with quick, hormone-induced anger. "I was   
not asking *you*. Your stomach is whirling enough I don't think you would know we had stopped   
even if we *had*! Right, Aragorn?"  
  
"Elf-"  
  
"Enough!" came Aragorn's loud yell. "Both of you! Be silent!!"  
  
The others in the Fellowship stared in shock at the Ranger. He was usually the epitome of   
patience; never had they seen him lose his temper in anything other than a fight with the   
creatures of the Dark Lord, much less raise his voice.  
  
"Aragorn?" Boromir queried tentatively after a few long moments had passed in shocked silence.  
  
"What?" came the snapped reply.  
  
"Perhaps we should stop for a time, so we can all recall our tempers."  
  
The Ranger was about to argue, but then thought better of it. "Fine. There is a spot just ahead   
that looks suitable for a landing. We will stop there. Well enough?" His glare at the others   
dared anyone -*anyone*- to disagree. Seeing the nearly-homicidal light in his eyes, no one said   
a word as they guided the boats to the shore.  
  
Once there, Aragorn stalked off into the wood to walk off his foul temper. The others set up a   
small camp and set watch. Legolas unrolled his bedroll, lay down on it on his stomach and read   
more of the book Galadriel had given him. Soon, he was asleep again.  
  
***  
  
Several hours had passed before Aragorn once again returned to the camp, his knuckles   
suspiciously bruised and bloodied. He unrolled his bedroll, sat down on it and set about   
pulling splinters from his torn knockles.  
  
"What happened?" Boromir asked, gesturing to the Ranger's hands.  
  
"I argued with a tree," came the snapped reply.  
  
Boromir nodded slowly, understanding. He had wanted many times over the past few days to   
pulverize something himself. "Who won?" he asked.  
  
"I did."  
  
Boromir stood beside the Ranger for a few moments more, an awkward silence between them. "About   
the Elf-"  
  
"Boromir. Leave me be."  
  
With a shrug, Denethor's son turned and went to join the others near the fire where the hobbits   
were cooking a meal.  
  
As it happened, Aragorn's bedroll lay not far from Legolas'. And so it was that when the Elf   
awoke, it was to see Aragorn sitting nearby. He mistook it for the Ranger keeping watch over him   
from concern, and not the seething mood it was. So Legolas thought it safe to voice the thing   
that was bothering him, scraping against his nerves, squirming uncomfortably beneath his skin   
with every breath he took.  
  
"Aragorn?" he called, stretching. "Could you get me some carrots? And some chocolate? No, no,   
wait. Chocolate-covered carrots." He saw the Ranger's back stiffen, but shrugged it off as   
startlement over his sudden speech. "Or perhaps some-"  
  
"No."  
  
"-and cherries, and-" Legolas blinked at the hissed word. "What? Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn slowly turned, spoke with teeth gritted tightly together. "I. Said. No."  
  
The Elf blinked again. "What? But, Aragorn, I *need* them-"  
  
"No."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No."  
  
Legolas frowned. "But it's for me. For the baby. And I wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for   
you!"   
  
Unnoticed by either of the two, the rest of the Fellowship had gathered to watch the argument.  
  
"Oh, don't try that!" Aragorn said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It isn't going to work."  
  
"This is your fault, now get out there and get. Me. My. Carrots!"  
  
"*My* fault? *My* fault? You weren't exactly unwilling, Greenleaf!"  
  
Both Elf and Ranger had gotten up from their beds, now stood face to face, arms gesturing wildly   
as they yelled, faces flushed with anger.  
  
"And *you* aren't the one that got pregnant! Where is your sense of honor, of duty, of sympathy?   
What about *my* needs?"  
  
Aragorn ground his teeth together hard enough everyone could hear them. He had just opened his   
mouth to reply when a group of perhaps thirty orcs and Saruman's Uruk-hai charged out of the wood   
at them.   
  
Distracted by the argument, the rest of the Fellowship had forgotten to keep the watch.  
  
Legolas turned to face the interruption, eyes blazing.  
  
Orcs and Uruk-hai alike skidded to a stop at the sight, a bit taken aback by the Elf's angry   
glare. Also, having been created long ago by the first Dark Lord to be twisted mockeries of   
Elves, the orcs were able to sense that something was not quite right about this particular Elf.  
  
Legolas glared even harder when he recognized the dark and twisted forms. He started to reach   
for his bow, but then changed his mind and took up his long knives instead. He felt the deep   
need to release a lot of purely physical anger and frustration, the driving *need* to hack   
*something* -or someone- to bits.  
  
The orcs and orc-kin were a suitable substitute for Aragorn.  
  
With an Elvish war-cry, Legolas ran full tilt at the evil creatures, knives flashing, golden hair   
streaming behind like a banner.  
  
The twisted ones, fear coursing through them, tried to backpedal, tried to flee from the   
homicidal Elf, to no avail.  
  
The others of the Fellowship could only stare in amazement as the Elf tore through the ranks,   
felling orc after orc after Uruk-hai after Uruk-hai. His knives were slicked with dark blood,   
and their brightness was undimmed even by the filth.  
  
Within minutes every single evil creature that had joined in the attack lay dead upon the ground.   
Legolas stood among them, chest heaving as he gulped in air, hands and arms and face splattered   
with dark blood.  
  
They watched as the Elf looked down at himself, made a face of disgust and headed for the river   
to wash.  
  
Aragorn sighed. He'd read in the book that these things could happen; the cravings, the mood   
swings. Unfortunately, the book had listed no cure for this but time and emotional support.  
  
Usually, the Dunadan would have given these things without hesetation, but he was distracted by   
the Quest, by the rising forces of Sauron, by the probable reactions of their families to the   
pregnancy... Since Gandalf's death, he was burning the candle at both ends *and* the middle and   
had no support left in him to give to anyone but the ringbearer.  
  
With a sigh, he decided that he should apologise to the Elf anyway, and explain himself. Surely   
Legolas would understand, as he had to deal with a great deal of the same stress himself.  
  
He turned just in time to see Merry and Pippin somehow produce a chocolate-covered carrot and   
present it to the newly-cleaned Elf.  
  
Legolas took it, eyes gone shiny with tears and took a bite. A blissful smile on his face, he   
chewed and swallowed. He smiled at the two hobbits, gratitude in his eyes, then hugged them   
tightly. "Thank you!" he said. "It's perfect!" Then he went and flopped down on his bedroll,   
ate the rest of the carrot and fell asleep again.  
  
The others stared at each other in bemusement, then shook their heads.  
  
/Pregnant Elves./ Was the thought in many a mind. /Try to figure them./  
  
Before he went to take his place at watch, Aragorn looked to Merry and Pippin. "*Where* did you   
get chocolate out here?" he asked. "Or *when* did you get it?"  
  
"Celeborn gave it to me," Merry said. Pippin nodded in support. "He said that I should have   
some on hand in case Legolas had the same insane craving as Galadriel did. We're lucky he only   
wanted chocolate carrots. She wanted a lot worse."  
  
"And that was..?"  
  
Both hobbits made a face of absolute disgust. "You don't want to know."  
  
Aragorn growled low in his throat, then stalked out of the camp. A tree out there was waiting   
for him to pulverize it, he knew it. After that, he had to keep watch.  
  
***  
  
In Rivendell, a messenger from Lothlorien, his letter newly delivered to Elrond, waited patiently   
for a reply while the half-Elf read it.  
  
He was nearly deafened by Elrond's outraged bellow scant minutes later, a bellow that echoed down   
through the entire valley of Rivendell, startling birds into flight and small animals into abrupt   
silence, even as every Elf winced and stared reproachfully in the direction of the shout.  
  
***  
  
Thranduil opened the letter the 'Lorien messenger had just handed him, briefly scanned the header   
and ending signature. /Why would the Lady Galadriel send a letter to me?/ he wondered. He   
scanned the letter briefly, catching a glimpse of the words 'Legolas' and 'pregnant'.   
  
/Legolas got someone pregnant?/ he thought, frowning in confusion. /Why would Galadriel write me   
of this? There has to be more to this than that./  
  
Still frowning, he carefully read the letter, frown deepening the further down the page he read,   
until he came to the true context of those two small words.  
  
The bellow he sent forth was nearly an exact match for the one heard in Rivendell.  
  
***  
  
The Fellowship had decided to move a small distance downriver, away from the corpses, to make   
camp for the day. The company all needed the respite from being trapped on boats with the Elf   
and dwarf, needed time to completely cool their tempers. They would leave in the morning, and   
Aragorn hoped to get in at least a true half-day's distance before they stopped.   
  
Even if he had to drug Legolas and Gimli into unconsciousness to do it.  
  
Isildur's heir awoke abruptly from his sleep, stared up at the stars above. A shiver of dread   
ran like icewater down his spine.  
  
For some reason, he just *knew* that both Elrond and Thranduil somehow *knew* of his and Legolas'   
predicament.  
  
He looked over to the Elf, was startled to see him lying there, apparently also startled awake.   
Sharp green eyes, full of reflected starlight, met with his own. In them, he could see the same   
distress *he* felt.  
  
"They know," Legolas said quietly, soft enough even the Ranger's keen ears had to strain to hear   
the words, "don't they?"  
  
Aragorn nodded slightly. "I think so. But how?"  
  
Legolas said only a single word.  
  
"Galadriel."  
  
TBC...  
  
  
What did you think? Click the button down there and let me know! ;o) Plotbunnies *love* reading   
reviews! 


	11. They're in Trouble...

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1.  
  
Thanks to everybody for the great reviews last chapter! Hopefully, the plotbunnies will decide to   
bite sooner for the next chapter! Reviews help! ;)  
  
Hope you'll find this worth the wait... Sorry about that. Darn muses were running scared... ;P  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 11  
  
Arwen was passing down the hallway outside of her father's study when the hair-raising, ear-  
splitting bellow issued from within. She came to an abrupt halt at the sound, stood there   
rubbing her ringing ears for a moment.  
  
The door of Elrond's study opened then and he came out. His face was a mask of anger. He never   
saw her standing there as he turned abruptly and began to walk hurriedly down the hall in the   
opposite direction, yelling for Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir.  
  
One eyebrow raised in curiosity, Arwen went to the study and slipped inside. A messenger in the   
colors of Lothlorien sat huddled up against one wall, his knees drawn up, his head on his knees   
and shielded by his arms. She spared a moment to pity him; Elrond's shout had hurt *her* ears   
and she had been a closed door and thick wall away. Then she moved to her father's desk and   
looked over the papers that lay strewn there. On top of the rest lay a letter addressed to   
Elrond in the hand of her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.  
  
//That must be it,// she thought. It made sense, as the messenger was from there and so was the   
letter. She took up the fine parchment, unfolded it. //Now what did Grandmother have to say   
that would so upset Father....//  
  
Orophin, brother to Haldir, guardian of the borders of Lothlorien and sometimes-messenger of the   
Lord and Lady, was beginning to uncurl from his tight huddle. He could hear again- usual sounds,   
not just the persistent ringing and muffled noise that had been all he could hear after Elrond's   
unexpected shout. He had just stood up, still leaning slightly against the wall behind him, and   
taken his hands from his ears when-  
  
"I'LL KILL HIM!" Arwen shrieked, nearly as loud as her father had managed. There was something   
to be said of age and experience, after all....  
  
A veil of blank red rage over her vision, she stormed from the study and hurried off in the   
direction of her rooms with every intention of changing her clothes, packing and leaving Rivendell   
to chase after the Fellowship and chop a few important bits from her 'beloved'. A sinister,   
bare-toothed smile was upon her face, and all who saw it shrank away in fear.  
  
In Elrond's study, ears ringing anew, collapsed once more upon the floor in an undignified heap,   
arms curled protectively over his head, Orophin just whimpered.  
  
***  
  
True to his thoughts the night before, Aragorn managed to slip a hefty dose of sleeping-drug into   
Gimli's breakfast the next morning. He left Legolas' food untouched, as he hadn't yet finished   
reading the section of the book Galadriel had given him that dealt with things a pregnant person   
should not eat. He didn't want to hurt the baby or Legolas, after all. And besides, Legolas was   
still often tired and tended to sleep for long stretches. Hopefully, he would sleep through the   
journey.  
  
Legolas sat off by himself a little way as the last of the Fellowship finished their morning meal,   
nibbling at one of his pink lembas and watching the river flow by.  
  
Once everyone was done eating, Aragorn gave the order to pack the boats for the day's journey.   
As he was loading the grey elven-boats, he noticed Legolas sitting there on the bank, watching.   
His pack lay at his feet, but he made no move to pick it up or help load the other baggage.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn called. "Bring your pack and come help load the boats."  
  
Legolas looked over, still eating his lembas. His lips were stained a deep pink from it. "I   
cannot, Aragorn," he said with a slight shrug.  
  
Aragorn grit his teeth, his good mood evaporating quickly. "And why not?"  
  
"The book says I cannot do any lifting. Orc-killing, yes. Lifting, no."  
  
"Legolas, I'm sure it means later on," Aragorn said. "You are not even showing yet."  
  
Legolas lay one long-fingered hand on his abdomen. "Yes, I am!" he said around his last bite of   
lembas. He looked down at himself, then amended, "A little bit."  
  
Aragorn looked him over. Even with the Elf sitting, it was plain to him that the 'showing'   
Legolas spoke of was not even noticeable with him clothed. Even if he were naked, Aragorn felt   
certain that one would have to know *exactly* what to look for to see any difference in the Elf's   
slim body.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn said in a warning tone. "Come help."  
  
Just then there was a heavy-sounding splash behind the Ranger. Turning quickly, he had the   
somewhat dubious honor of seeing three hobbits and a soaking man of Gondor pull and unconscious   
and soaking wet dwarf from the water. The sleep-drug had finally kicked in.  
  
Turning back to Legolas, Aragorn saw the Elf caught in a fit of near-hysterical laughter at the   
sight, peals of laughter ringing in the morning air even as silvery tears rolled helplessly down   
the narrow face.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn said again, his irritation evident in his tone.  
  
As quick as that, Legolas tears changed from tears of laughter to tears of upset. "You do not   
care!" he wailed. "You would harm my child, our child!"  
  
Teeth gritted, Aragorn counted silently from one to ten. Again. It seemed he was doing that a   
lot lately. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, aching to pound yet another tree   
into pulp. "Legolas-"  
  
"No! You do not care about me! You do not care about the child! You wish it would be gone!"  
  
Aragorn could not argue; he had thought several times over the last few days that things would be   
a lot simpler if Legolas was not pregnant. Still, the Elf's teary accusations did not sit well,   
and only served to make the Ranger even more irritated.  
  
It didn't help that the rest of the company, Gimli safely laid down at the riverbank away from   
the water, went over to comfort the Elf, casting looks of displeasure and censure at Aragorn.   
They hovered around the Elf, patting him gently, offering him nice things to eat, blankets,   
comforting embraces. If anything, their cosseting only increased when Legolas stopped crying,   
smiled tearfully up at them. Boromir took up the Elf's pack, carried it to the boats even as the   
hobbits urged him gently towards them.  
  
Soon, Legolas was settled cozily into a boat in his customary place amongst the baggage and was   
soon asleep, pregnancy book held protectively to his chest in its oilcloth wrapping.  
  
The dwarf was laid down in Boromir's boat, then Boromir and the hobbits climbed into the boats   
and pushed off slightly from the shore.  
  
"Come on, Aragorn!" called Boromir to the Dunadan who was still standing on the bank, fists still   
clenching and unclenching, posture rigid. "The morning flies by while you stand there. We must   
away!"  
  
"'We must away,'" Aragorn muttered to himself as he turned and walked to the boat he shared with   
Frodo and Sam. So upset was he that he failed to notice the two open their mouthes to speak with   
him, then close them again without making a sound, faces paling slightly as they saw the   
near-homicidal light in his eyes.  
  
And so the day's journey got off to a somewhat rocky start.  
  
***  
  
In Mirkwood, the realm of the Wood-Elves was left in the care of its Council as Thranduil, still   
seething with rage, set out from his palace with a small entourage for the first time since the   
Battle of Five Armies.  
  
Galadriel had told him that his son's party had recently left Lothlorien and were heading down   
the river Anduin in boats gifted to them by the Galadhrim.  
  
Mounted on the fastest horses in his kingdom, Thranduil hoped to intercept Legolas' group before   
they were forced to abandon their boats above the great waterfall Rauros. He knew that if his   
party pressed on as quickly as their elf-bred horses would allow, they would probably reach the   
waterfall before the boaters. He knew how his wife had reacted to *her* pregnancies and did not   
doubt that Legolas would be equally as miserable, therefore slowing his companions considerably.  
  
Even if they arrived after the Fellowship had already passed, Thranduil intended to track them   
down, which was why he had made certain to include several great trackers of Mirkwood in his own   
party.  
  
He *would* catch up with the Fellowship. And when he did, he had a mind to chop some important   
bits off of the man responsible for his son's impossible condition.  
  
***  
  
In Rivendell Elrond's party was just leaving, having been delayed by the fact that Glorfindel   
could not find Asfaloth. The mystery of his missing elfhorse was answered when they found the   
head stableman unconscious in the tack room, a dented shovel lying beside him on the floor.   
  
Arwen, they were told, had done it when he refused to saddle Glorfindel's horse for her. He had   
done so before, he admitted, but this time had been different as she was packed and outfitted for   
a long journey.   
  
"She didn't even bother to argue after asking twice," he said. "She just grabbed up the shovel   
there and..." he shrugged. "There was a look in her eyes, though. I pity whoever it is that's   
made her so angry."  
  
At last, a suitable mount was found for Glorfindel, then they were off as fast as the elfhorses   
would go.  
  
In Elrond's head, the thoughts were whirling.  
  
//She knows,// he thought. //Arwen somehow knows about Aragorn and Legolas.// He hoped she   
didn't do anything irreversible to either one before they managed to catch up with her.  
  
//As for Aragorn and Legolas... I am certain that by the time we catch up with them I will have   
thought of a suitable punishment.//  
  
Riding hard beside his lord, Glorfindel shivered all over with dread. He most definitely did   
*not* want to know what made Elrond smile so grimly, nor why he heard small snatches of wedding   
songs coming from the half-Elf's direction.  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Poor Aragorn and Legolas. They're in trouble now!! ;oP  
  
So, like it? Click the button down there and let me and my plotbunnies know! ;D 


	12. Chance Meetings

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1  
  
Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews! Sorry it's taken so long to post this chapter; the   
plotbunnies have been either nipping about my other fic, posted and not, or are on vacation   
without me. *sigh* They could at *least* have left me the Elf-clones....  
  
Thoughts are in // //.  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 12  
  
//Why couldn't Legolas have *stayed* sleepy?//  
  
It was something Aragorn had thought often over the past day.  
  
Luckily, their journey down the Anduin had been mostly uneventful for the past four days. The   
Ranger still resorted to drugging Gimli with sleeping-draught so as not to have to deal with the   
dwarf's sickness. Gimli had been upset at first, until one of the hobbits pointed out how much   
further they had come and how much longer the river voyage would take if Gimli was awake to see   
it, as well as how much more miserable he would be. Aragorn expected to reach the headpond above   
Rauros in three or four more days.  
  
Legolas, though. The previous three days passed as they usually did, with Legolas seemingly   
constantly on the razor-edge of exhaustion and often asleep. Those nights passed normally as   
well.  
  
But then the fourth morning came... and everything about the Elf changed. He awoke in the foggy   
grey light before dawn, more awake than he'd been since they'd left Lothlorien, as if all that   
extra sleep he'd been getting had finally caught up with him. He was like a big Elf-shaped ball   
of energy, constantly flitting from one side of the camp to the other, words pouring nonstop from   
his mouth about everything and nothing, and generally driving the others of the Fellowship   
steadily insane.  
  
//Valar, *why*??//  
  
The others were barely halfway through their breakfast when Legolas began fidgeting in place. He   
had bolted down his lembas in three huge bites, finishing eating even before the others had taken   
their portions of the hobbit-prepared breakfast, so quickly that the pink from the thin waybread   
didn't even have a chance to color his lips and tongue as it usually did. Then he ate three more   
just as quickly.  
  
The fidgeting grew until Legolas could not sit still anymore and stood, pacing around the eaters,   
constantly turning to Aragorn to ask an impatient, 'Are you done yet? Can we go now?' until the   
rest of the Fellowship began fantasizing about tying him up and gagging him simply to get him to   
be quiet.  
  
It was even worse after they began their day's journey. Legolas, sitting bolt upright and   
wide-eyed amongst the baggage in the boat, found a paddle buried beneath the packs, and began to   
paddle.   
  
And paddle.   
  
And paddle, the strokes getting faster and faster every time. Poor Merry, sharing the same   
boat with the crazed Elf, simply couldn't move or paddle as swiftly as the Elf.  
  
Aragorn ground his teeth at the sight of Legolas paddling insanely and the faintly-green Merry   
trying uselessly to keep up.  
  
"Legolas!" the others heard Merry yell. "Slow down! You paddle too quickly!"  
  
"Nonsense, friend Merry!" Legolas answered. "You do not paddle quickly enough!"  
  
"Legolaaaaaaaaaaa-!"  
  
The others watched helplessly as Legolas and Merry's boat went into a slow spin as it floated   
down the Anduin.   
  
Legolas was so focused on his paddling that he didn't even notice that the boat was spinning   
around. Merry, who had always prided himself on his ability to handle boats without sickness,   
was noisily ill over the side of the boat.  
  
Mirkwood's prince stopped paddling as he heard his companion's illness, looked back over his   
shoulder to the hobbit. As he stopped paddling, the current seized the boat and set it heading   
straight downstream again, the result being that Legolas never knew they had been going anything   
other than straight the entire time.  
  
"I thought you said that you were good with boats, Merry," Legolas said, eyes glittering   
faintly with suppressed mirth.  
  
Merry, still green about the edges, glared. //If he wasn't pregnant, I'd-// A grin spread   
across his face as he listed in his head all the things he would like to do to the Elf.  
  
Legolas frowned slightly as the ill-looking hobbit seemed to cheer up all of a sudden. The   
other's grim smile made him nervous for some reason.  
  
***  
  
Afternoon of the next day found Thranduil and his party setting up camp by the Anduin. The loud   
pounding of Rauros could be heard on the air, and the falls itself easily seen even by mortal eyes.  
  
The trackers had scouted the area on both sides of the headpond and found no sign of the passing   
of Legolas' group. Thranduil was determined to wait as long as he had to so that he could sink   
his figurative claws into the Man who had done the impossible to his son.  
  
It was nearing midnight when one of the sentries brought word that a group was approaching from   
upriver.  
  
Thinking it was his son's group, Thranduil ordered the fires built up, water heated for tea,   
blankets warmed... and his sword brought out.  
  
Soon, as the Elven king peered out into the night-dark, he heard the sound of hooves approaching.   
Then the other group came into the light of the fire, led by one of the Mirkwood sentries.  
  
"Peredhel?!" Thranduil exclaimed. "What are *you* doing here?"  
  
***  
  
It was completely by accident that Arwen stumbled across the campsite. She had been drifting   
slowly off course since crossing through the Gap of Rohan and was many miles west and north of   
where she was supposed to be.  
  
She was leading Asfaloth on foot through the woods near the banks of the River Anduin, as the   
elfhorse had become steadily more ill-tempered the further they got from Rivendell, the change   
even more noticeable after Arwen ran out of bribes for him. He would no longer let her onto his   
back at all.  
  
Footsore and seething, Arwen spotted the fire of a campsite through the trees. Tying the horse   
to a tree branch, she edged closer on foot, scouting out the camp to see if she should avoid it   
or not.  
  
As she snuck closer, she saw two tall, cloaked figures standing silhouetted between her and the   
fire. She could not make out any specific details about them, but judged them to be Men. Then   
she saw another tall figure, this one sitting with his back mostly to her. He was sitting in a   
spot that, while she could clearly see his carefully braided golden hair and one elegantly   
pointed Elven ear, she could not see his face.  
  
But she didn't need to see it. She knew who he was.  
  
Legolas.  
  
That realization planted firmly in her mind, she figured that the two cloaked ones must be her   
Ranger and Boromir. Looking around the campsite again, she saw three of the hobbits sitting   
around. She had not noticed them at first because she had thought them simply blanket-draped   
rocks. She could not see the dwarf, but she was not concerned. Surely, he was out in the woods   
a ways, posted as a sentry.  
  
Arwen's eyes narrowed as she looked to Legolas and Aragorn, then back again.  
  
That... that... Elf! How *dare* he have taken her Ranger's affections from her?! He *knew* that   
the Dunadan was Arwen's! He knew it! And yet he had... Arwen couldn't even force herself to   
think the thought... with Aragorn and gotten himself pregnant.  
  
And Aragorn! He who was supposed to remain faithful to her. He who apparently didn't. He who   
somehow impossibly got the Prince of Mirkwood- a male!! -pregnant. That child should by right be   
hers, in *her* belly, not some Wood-Elf male's!  
  
Her anger freshly roused and burning like a Silmaril inside her, Arwen couldn't decide which she   
was the most angry at.  
  
Simple expediency chose for her.  
  
With a blood-curdling screech, Arwen charged into the clearing, eyes sparking with a wrath to   
match that of the Valar themselves, hands reaching out for the nearest target-- Legolas.  
  
It was only when she was sitting on his chest, her hands were wrapped firmly about his neck, that   
her anger-reddened vision cleared enough for her to see the purpling face.  
  
Instantly, her hands slackened their grip, and she was pulled off of the Elf by his companions.  
  
She stared, then shook herself free of the hands that held her.  
  
"You!" she said, shaking with the fading remnants of her great anger, her cheeks flushed from   
both exertion and embarrassment. "What are *you* doing here?"  
  
The blond Elf caughed, rubbed at his sore neck. He looked to Arwen, motioned his companions away   
from her. "Lady Arwen," he rasped, grimacing at the slight pain speaking gave him. "Greetings."  
  
"Enough pleasantries," she snapped, angry at being embarrassed. "Glorfindel, what are *you* doing   
here?"  
  
"His borrowed horse threw a shoe, Arwen," came the reply from one of the cloaked ones, a voice   
she knew as well as that of her father. "You remember, the horse he had to use because *you*   
stole *his*?"  
  
"Yes," said Glorfindel. "My horse threw a shoe *and* went lame. Elladan and Elrohir stayed to   
keep me company. What are *you* doing here? And *where* is Asfaloth?"  
  
TBC...  
  
  
So, what did you think? Ideas/comments/suggestions? Click the button down there and leave the   
rabid plotbunnies a review! ;oD 


	13. Encounters and Premonitions

Through the Dark  
By SkyFire  
  
A/N: Hey, all. Sorry!!! for the loooooooong delay (almost a year?!). This chapter is not quite as   
long as the last ones, but I'm hoping that it will help get the plotbunnies working on this fic   
again.... Plotbunny food (reviews), and/or ideas are welcome....  
  
Thoughts, as always, are in // //.  
  
For Disclaimers, see part 1.  
  
*****  
Through the Dark  
By SkyFire  
  
Part 13  
  
Elrond blinked in startlement at the abrupt query. He gestured to the sentry he and his   
entourage had followed into the camp. "He led us here," he said simply. He looked around the   
camp, saw the preparations that had been made, smelled the tea on a fire-warmed breeze. He waved   
at the camp. "You are clearly ready for company. If not us, then wh--" he broke off as the   
answer revealed itself to him. "Legolas. You are searching for your son."  
  
Thranduil scowled. First Galadriel's letter to him concerning his son's impossible condition,   
forcing him to leave the comfort of his Hall and Realm to find his offspring and bring him home --   
and wreak painful vengeance on whoever was responsible.  
  
As if *that* wasn't enough, now he was stuck playing host to the party of the half-Elf lord who   
sent Legolas off with that group in the first place! Seen like that, the Peredhel was at least   
partially responsible! Intolerable!  
  
*****  
  
The words had barely left Glorfindel's mouth when there was a loud *crack!* from the darkness   
beyond the camp, followed quickly by a happy neighing and the sound of fast-approaching hoofbeats.  
  
The four looked to the sound in time to see Asfaloth enter the firelight, a broken-off length of   
branch dragging from the reins. The stallion hurried straight over to Glorfindel, butted him   
affectionately in the chest with his head with enough force to send the blond staggering back   
several paces, barely managing to keep his footing.  
  
Arwen glared at the white elfhorse. "I don't know why you keep such a contrary beast, Glorfindel,"   
she said, ignoring the fact that at the moment, Asfaloth was acting nothing of the sort,   
whuffling Glorfindel, lipping his hair. "His temperament has only gotten worse as the days   
passed. He wouldn't even let me ride him for the last two days!"  
  
Now it was Glorfindel's turn to glare, even as his knowing fingers sought out and scratched the   
spots on the stallion's neck that always got itchy. "Did it never occur to you that it might be   
because he is *my* horse, not yours?" he asked, tone more acidic than the Twins remembered   
hearing since their formal lessons ended. Beneath the golden-haired elf's talented fingers,   
Asfaloth was near vibrating with pleasure as his itches were finally recieving the scratching   
they deserved.  
  
Arwen sniffed. "*My* horses let anyone ride them."  
  
"Then you should have taken one of them," came the uncompromising reply.  
  
Angry at his careless dismissal of her journey's discomfort -- not to mention the utter lack of   
sympathy for the reason for said journey -- Arwen looked to her brothers for support.  
  
Elrohir pretended not to see her look, and Elladan raised her hands in surrender. "Don't look at   
me," Elladan said simply. "You have plenty of horses. There was no need for you to steal   
Asfaloth."  
  
Arwen glared.  
  
Elladan gulped. Perhaps he should have followed his twin's example...  
  
*****  
  
They made camp for the night an easy two-day's journey above Rauros. The Valar had apparently   
taken pity on Legolas' aggravated companions, as the Elf's burst of energy had temporarily worn   
off, leaving him lethargic once more.  
  
Once they gained the shore, Legolas and his book got out of the boat, went and sat down on a   
grassy area near to where the others were setting up camp. His pack and bedroll he left for   
someone to bring to him.  
  
Aragorn said nothing when he noticed, merely brought the Elf his belongings, dropping them to the   
grass by the slender feet.  
  
Legolas barely seemed to notice, staring out into the wild on their side of the river, a frown on   
his face, fingers nervously tracing the edges of his book.  
  
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked quietly as the others set up the camp. "What is it?"  
  
"I know not," Legolas said in distraction. "I know not what it is, but it comes closer, and it   
means us ill. I can feel it, Aragorn. Something evil comes, born of shadow and darkness."  
  
"Orcs?"  
  
A distracted shrug, even as his free hand landed protectively on his abdomen in an unconscious   
gesture. "It is similar, but... darker. Stronger. Faster. It will be here within the hour,   
Aragorn. We must leave here at once!"  
  
Aragorn, knowing the heightened senses of the Elves, and how they were so much better at   
detecting the approach of evil than Men, would normally have heeded Legolas' advice, packed up   
the Company and had them back on the river insearch of a safer camp. But that one unconscious   
maternal gesture stopped him this time, and he recalled reading in Galadriel's gift-book about   
the mood swings Legolas would be subject to. Surely now he was merely overreacting to the   
*possibility* of danger, his developing mothering instincts exaggerating the peril.  
  
"Legolas, this is a good camp," he said simply. "And you have been reading your book as have I;   
you know that your moods will be erratic--"  
  
"This is not about moods, Aragorn!" Legolas hissed, eyes narrowed in anger. "This is about evil!"  
  
"I know, but, Legolas, right now, we cannot trust your senses for such things."  
  
"I am not imagining things! This is real! We have to leave!"  
  
"No."  
  
*****  
TBC...  
  
.  
Uh-oh...  
  
Liked it? Let me know! Click the button down there and leave the plotbunnies (and me!) some nice   
juicy reviews...! :o) 


	14. A Near Miss

Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
For disclaimer, see part 1  
  
Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews! Sorry it's taken so long to post this chapter; the   
plotbunnies have been either nipping about my other fic, posted and not, or are on vacation   
without me. *sigh* They could at *least* have left me the Elf-clones....  
  
Thoughts are in // //.  
  
.  
*****  
Through the Dark  
by SkyFire  
  
Part 14  
  
Thranduil glared at the hapless Peredhel. "*Yes,*" he growled, "I am searching for Legolas. *And*   
your foster-son. I have a great deal to... discuss... with that mortal."  
  
Elrond winced. From the Mirkwood elf's tone, he guessed that the 'discussion' Thranduil had in   
mind would be less with words and more with sharp implements to Aragorn's soft areas.  
  
//By the Valar, Estel! The things I have to get you out of!//  
  
But he would. Somehow, he would talk Thranduil out of doing Aragorn bodily harm.  
  
That was *his* job, after all.  
  
//Estel has it coming this time!// Elrond thought even as he mentally organized the arguments he   
would use to turn Thranduil to his way of thinking. //The legitimacy issue,// he thought to   
himself, //Thranduil always stresses that point. If he does away with Estel, Legolas' child, the   
future heir of Mirkwood, will have no chance at legitimacy. That should work.//  
  
Knowing Thranduil, once he latched onto that thought, he would rush the two into a marriage bond   
at the first available opportunity.  
  
//At least it will not be a loveless match,// Elrond thought consolingly to himself. //If they   
loved each other enough to lie together and get Legolas with child, no matter the impossible,   
surely their love is great enough to enter into marriage together!//  
  
Even as he grudgingly let the Peredhel follow him back into his tent to speak with him, Thranduil   
kept an ear cocked, listening subconsciously for any sign of his son. Surely if Legolas had been   
close, he would have seen the Mirkwood party's camp (since it was not hidden at all by Elven   
standards) and come there to rest.  
  
Even as Elrond began to speak, Thranduil could sense the gathering darkness of evil things on the   
far bank of the river and gave brief thanks to the Valar that Legolas was not this far south yet,   
nor on that side of the Anduin.   
  
***  
  
It was not yet full dark when Legolas' words or warning were proven true.  
  
Far too late to change anything.  
  
And so in the hills near to the Rauros, the Fellowship was shattered. Boromir, lost to death.   
Merry and Pippin, captured by merciless orcs and Uruk-hai. Frodo and Sam, striking out on their   
own during the confusion, heading alone for the Emyn Muir and Mordor.  
  
By the time full dark fell, all that was left of the Fellowship in their ill-chosen camp were   
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn and Gimli saw to their weapons and provisions, sharpening   
this, packing that, leaving the other thing in an ever-growing pile of supplies to be left behind.   
  
Legolas, having fought beside them against the black tide of evil creatures, lay limp upon his   
blankets, deep in exhausted sleep. He had not spoken to Aragorn after the battle was over, had   
not said a thing about his previous warning and the man's careless dismissal of it. He did not   
speak the words aloud, but his eyes screamed them just the same.  
  
Gimli, out gathering firewood when Legolas had given his warning, was left in the dark about the   
reason for Legolas' vitreous glare and Aragorn's growing guilt. He did not know the reason, but   
even he could feel the tension between the two.  
  
The next morning, they made ready to depart. Aragorn and Gimli took up the greatest portion of   
their supplies, leaving Legolas burdened only with a light pack. Legolas spoke no words of   
accusation that morning either.  
  
As they left the clearing, gradually increasing their pace, Aragorn broke the silence. "Legolas,   
if you feel tired--"  
  
"I will manage," came the clipped reply.  
  
"But if you--"  
  
"I. Will. Manage."  
  
Aragorn subsided. Surely, Legolas would not risk harm to himself or the child by overexerting   
himself. Especially after the day before. He sighed. Legolas was right to be upset; he should   
have known to trust the warning the Elf had given, as Legolas was *not* one to overexaggerate   
peril. But he had been so *sure* that it was just wild emotion; that one maternal gesture   
overriding his better judgement.   
  
He shook his head. When they stopped for a rest in a few hours' time, he owed Legolas an apology.  
  
For his part, Legolas was content to run along beside the man and dwarf. Even he, son of   
Thranduil and grandson of Oropher that he was, could not hold on to his ire upon feeling the   
first little flutters from inside him. He still had no idea how he was going to tell his father   
about his condition, nor any idea how the elder Elf would react to the news, but pushed that   
troubling thought away.  
  
His father, after all, was at home in Mirkwood, oblivious.  
  
TBC...  
  
.  
;oP Hope you liked it! The next chapters will move forward through time in little jumps; the   
next chapter should have L, A, & G in Helm's Deep, the next the battle at the Pelennor, the one   
after that before the gates of Barad-dur, etc. That will hopefulls speed the story up some.  
  
Like the chapter? Please take a moment and let the plotbunnies and I know what you think! Thanks!!   
:oD 


	15. Helm's Deep

**"Through the Dark" by SkyFire**

For disclaimer, see part 1

Sorry about this. I've gotten sucked into a few more fandoms since then and I write for three (two actively -- Inuyasha and Fullmetal Alchemist). If you want to see my stuff in those fandoms, check out my livejournal: rabid-plotbunny (dot) livejournal (dot) com

Thoughts are in /.

**"Through the Dark" by SkyFire**

**Part 15**

"Aragorn, you worthless mortal, let me out of here!"

Man and dwarf grimaced at the sounds that followed; a loud, splintering crash that shook the heavy ironoak door in its place. Doubtless some piece of heavy Rohirrim furniture had just met its demise.

"Let me _out!_"

Gathering up his courage in the face of the sound of a -- by the sound -- severely outraged Elf, Aragorn still took two steps back before he replied. "It's for your own good, Legolas! You know you're big enough that it encumbers you. You know we cannot have that on the walls; it's too dangerous."

What followed was a stream of expleditives neither man nor dwarf had ever expected the fair creature even knew, let alone knew how to _use_. Then: "You're saying it 'encumbers' me enough that my skills are now below those of the women and children that are on those same walls! Most have never held weapons, you know that! At least I have! I can fight! Let me _out!_"

"I cannot do that. If your father ever found out--" Just the thought was enough to make the man wince. With renewed resolve, he picked up the bundle of Legolas' weapons. "I'm sorry, Legolas. It's for your own good."

Then he walked away. After depositing the weapons-bundle in a secure location, he went up, out of the Deep and took his place on the walls.

---

Legolas, pacing back and forth in the small underground cave-chamber, kicked at the sandy floor and wished it was a certain mortal's soft bits. One hand absently rubbed his ever-growing belly as the little being within gave a sharp kick of irritation of its own at its Ada's (Nana's?) actions.

He could see what Aragorn was trying to do; protect him and the child. He could understand that; the last thing he wanted was for the life inside him to come to harm.

Even so, his methods left much to be desired. Tricked into this cave, locked in as if he were naught but a naughty child--!

Apparently having had enough of its Ada's foul mood, the child took that moment to send a well-aimed kick -- definitely taking after his Elven side in both aim and strength! -- down into a particularly sensitive spot.

The next thing Legolas knew, he was blinking back tears as he knelt gasping for breath on the sandy floor, curled over as much as he could in his current shape, clutching at himself in pain.

Point most definitely taken.

"Calm, little one," he said through gritted teeth. "Dont kick your Ada." A second's pause, then he amended: "Don't kick your _Elven_ Ada. Kick your _human_ Ada all you want. I know I will. I can't believe he locked me up--!"

A softer kick, as if to warn off the direction the rant was heading.

Again, point taken.

A hard sigh, then Legolas hauled himself up, only to settle himself on the floor near one stone wall to wait.

He couldn't help but tense again at the sound of the battle joining above.

As if in an attempt to soothe its bearer, the small life within tried its best to distract him with acrobatics; rolling this way and that, sending little fluttery, bubbly feelings through his belly. He seemed to calm as he focused on them, though sometimes a kick was necessary to regain his attention as the battle surged and ebbed above.

At least Aragorn had had the foresight to leave the book...

---

The first sign that their grasp of the situation was slightly off came in the form of an orcish corpse floating down the waters, distincive Mirkwood arrows jutting up from it like grim decoration. Then there was another, and another, followed by yet more. Some had been shot, others sliced by blades.

One of the orcish pincussions was tugged ashore, one of the arrows retrieved.

"This is Legolas' mark," Thranduil said stiffly, broken, bloodied arrow clenched tightly in his fist. He looked to Elrond, who stood nearby. "How did they get so far south so quickly? We should have been at least a day ahead of them. And why would they have been on the far shore? Legolas, if no one else, would have been able to sense the growing darkness there!"

Elrond made no reply; it was something he wondered as well. Aragorn knew better than to ignore an Elf's warning, after all. But then, he had thought that Aragorn knew enough to stay true to Arwen (not that he was _upset_ that his precious girl would not have to die because of that love, yet the simple truth of Legolas' pregnancy gave lie to that belief. He wondered if the prince would become as irrational as an elleth would as his pregnancy progressed...

_/Oh./_ Suddenly, it became clear. Growing up in Rivendell as he had, Aragorn had seen how strangely pregnancy affected Elven women, how irrational they sometimes became. _/Estel, you didn't./_ Would the boy have dismissed the prince's warnings as nothing but maternal hysteria?

The shout of a sentry perched high in a tree by the river -- one of those who had first spotted the orcs' corpses -- drew the attention of those in the camp. They watched in grim silence as a laden grey boat floated down the river toward the Rauros.

The tension didn't fade after Elrond was able to identify the man as Boromir based on the description given by the sentry.

What had happened on the far side of the river? As much of a relief as it was that there was only the one boat, there was still ample room for concern. The others were alive, yes. But were they hurt? Taken? At least one was free --the Gondorian's funeral boat told that tale well enough-- but were they well? And--

"Search up and down the river. Find a place where we can cross," Thranduil ordered, knuckles white as he gripped the arrow. "I have to see my son."

TBC...

Pelennor next. I want to get this thing done!


	16. Pelennor and Beyond

**Through the Dark**  
**by SkyFire**

**A/N:** So this is it. The last chapter.

I want to say thank you to the people who have reviewed this story so far, those who will in the future, and everyone who put this story on their Faves or Alert lists. I wish there were more of you, but with the looooooooooong wait, I can see why there aren't. Looking at the stats, though, it's kind of depressing seeing the story get almost two hundred hits a month and no reviews. That's the kind of thing that leads to no updates. 'Sir Edwin', so are you. Crabbing at an author _kills_ the inspiration to write, not encourages it.

A pretty (formatted) version will be put up in my InsaneJournal by the end of the month.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own LOTR or any of its characters, and no money is being made.

.

**Through the Dark**  
**by SkyFire**

**Part 16/16**

The Pelennor, and the massive battle that took place there before the walls of Gondor, was something that Legolas had hoped he'd never have to see again. The sheer number of the Dark Lord's massed forced was enough to drive one into despair. How could the ragged remnants of Gondor's once-mighty army and a handful of would-be heroes possibly hope to not only withstand the hordes that turned the entire plain black with their numbers, but also hope to defeat them? It seemed an impossible task.

But Aragorn, it seemed, was to earn himself a reputation for accomplishing the impossible.

A man of the long-lost line of Kings of Numenor, rightful heir of the throne of Gondor, he was not a man of weak will, nor prone to despair. And while some of his accomplishments had crept up on him unlooked-for, as evidenced by the budding life he and Legolas had created, most were well-earned. Somehow, he had managed to resist the lure of the Ring long enough to give the Ringbearer a fighting chance of accomplishing his task. Somehow, he had managed to lead the ragged remains of their shattered Fellowship across the lands in search of their stolen companions, and if they hadn't managed to meet up with them in person, they had gotten glad tidings of them from the one they had long since mourned for lost. He had managed to convince the Lord of the Riddermark to gather his armies and ride to Gondor's aid, no small feat in itself, especially after the losses incurred at Helm's Deep. He'd managed to convince the hosts of the dead, lurking in the bowels of the earth in the Paths of the Dead, to fight with him, for him, against the armies of the Dark Lord.

He'd managed to get an Elf-Prince pregnant.

Legolas, for his part, found the battle at the Pelennor Fields an exercise in frustration. Heavily pregnant though he was, he still longed to fight, to do his part in the battle. There were so few standing against so many; surely every hand, every blade was needed? But while in his heart he longed to throw himself into the fight, to hear his bowstring hum time and again until he was out of arrows, to feel his blades slicing through that corrupt flesh and bone, he'd had more than one opportunity to feel grateful for the ghostly guard Aragorn had assigned to him that kept him safe from harm, buffered from the battle by a glowing, ghostly wall of death a bowshot deep on all sides. He'd run up from the shore with the others, with Aragorn and Gimli, only to find himself lagging behind before they had passed much beyond the docks themselves, and forced to stop entirely for a long moment to regain his breath and soothe the twisting and kicking life within that was making it plain that it was _not_ impressed with his desire to join the battle in his condition. The weight of the leather and chain armor his companions had insisted he don, if only to protect his large belly, didn't help either.

Even so, he reached the plain at last, only to find enemies rushing at him and he himself too worn just then to do much more than draw his blades, blades that suddenly felt _far _too heavy, and curse at himself for his stubborn pride and stupidity. That was when his honor guard made itself known and while he was incensed that he was once again being coddled, another part of him was grateful and acknowledged that had they not been there he would have been in dire straights indeed.

From that point on, he'd been grateful and frustrated by turns as his energy peaked and ebbed, frustrated at his inability to get within reach of his enemies, grateful that they couldn't get within reach of _him._ There were so many of them, covering the plain like a dark ocean, and for a long while he could see no end. After a while, he caught on to the fact that he _could_ help, that he _could_ kill; all he had to do was move so that whatever enemies he wished to engage were within his ghostly kill-zone. It didn't matter to his guard if there was one or one hundred; all were taken care of just as easily, just as quickly. And when there _weren't_ enemies to kill, when he stood there resting because he knew that if he sat he wouldn't be able to get up without aid, his guard seemed to delight in coming close, in staring at him and the new life that he bore within him. Having been dead for so long, and surrounded by nothing but death for such a length of time that they could barely recall a time when it was not so, the spark of new life drew them like flies. It was that, apparently, which lured them into revealing themselves in the Paths of the Dead, and not the call from some ragged man who claimed the blood of kings.

Legolas stowed that little tidbit of knowledge away for the next time Aragorn saw fit to aggravate him.

The Pelennor was a long, bloody battle that no one had really hoped to win once the might of the Dark Lord stood revealed on the plain, but thanks to the valiant efforts of the City's defenders and allies and help unlooked-for, it was done. The damage to the City was great and the plain was awash with the dead and blood, but at the end the forces of Men stood, battered yet unbeaten though both Gondor and Rohan had lost their masters.

Once the battle was done, Aragorn released the dead to their long-awaited slumber. Most chose to fade away gratefully, to seek the restful death they had been denied for so long, but a good number of them chose to linger a while longer, to protect the Elf-prince a while longer.

Legolas didn't know whether to be grateful or insulted. Now not only were Aragorn and Gimli trying to coddle him – him, an Elf-Prince who had been fighting and defending himself and others since before their _grandparents_ had ever met! – but now so, too, were the dead.

He was never going to get within blade-reach of an enemy again.

But, sitting in the Healing Houses and listening with rapt attention to one end of a tube while a healer pressed the other end – that looked rather like a short funnel with a drumskin attached – to his swollen belly, hearing for the first time the heartbeat he'd only felt before then, he couldn't quite muster the will to be angry.

**oOoOo**

They rested in Minas Tirith, the White City, for a few days to rest and heal before setting out once more, this time to challenge the Dark Lord directly.

Aragorn, Gimli, the healers, and most of the men riding out tried to get him to stay behind. Logically, Legolas knew that he should. His baby was due to arrive at any time and he knew that he should stay behind with the healers and rest up for it as they requested. He knew it, and yet he could no more stay behind than he could pull the stars from the skies. He had joined the Fellowship with the intent to see the Dark Lord destroyed, and he would see it through to the end.

And so it was that Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and his ghostly retinue, Eomer, and a sizeable group of mixed Gondorian and Rohirrim fighting men left the White City at dawn one morning not a week after the battle had been won and started out for the Black Gate to challenge the Dark Lord in his domain.

The Pelennor was quiet that morning, blanketed in a thick fog that was quickly being burned away by the rising sun. Busy with tending the wounded and clearing out the city, only the dead of Men had been taken from the bloody field of battle. Everywhere they looked, they could see the corpses of orcs, wargs, evil Men and other dark creatures. The plain was littered also with weaponry; abandoned blades, broken arrows, wicked _things_ out of Mordor for which Men had no name. It would be a long time before everything was cleared away. Longer still before the land was ready for the plow once more. Right then, though, it resembled nothing so much as the battlefield it had been just days before and they were grateful to the fog both for hiding the extent of the carnage and denying the Sun the chance to make the death-stink worse by shining on it.

That was the scene that greeted the Elven-lords as they rode into the plain from the direction of Rohan. They looked from one torn and bloody corpse to the next, each new sight bringing up memories of battlefields long gone, and wondered how the diminished forces of Men could possibly have withstood such a force alone. Would they arrive at the White City only to find it now ruled by darkness? Would they see in it the death-knell of the free peoples? Would they see in it insurmountable proof that it was time for the Elves to sail to the West, to leave these lands? Had all that was once great fallen now into the hands of darkness?

The only hope they could see, as they rode under cover of the fog towards the City, was that though the bodies of the Dark Lord's forces were countless in number, they had yet to see a single Man.

That hope was rewarded as they neared the City and saw, high above, long-unused pennants fluttering in the wind on the tip of the highest tower, declaring to one and all that the King had returned.

Thranduil, for all that he still wanted the mortal in pieces for what he had done, seemed pleased. At least now the father of his son's child was a King of Men come into his own and no longer a wandering, dispossessed Ranger. With that in mind, he let himself give more thought to Elrond's proposal that the two be wed. Though he would have preferred his son to settle down with a gentle _elleth_ – or _ellon_, if he preferred – he found himself less opposed to the match now that the Man in question was King of Gondor, the last great kingdom of Men.

Elrond, for his part, saw the fluttering banner and felt both happy and sad. Happy, that the boy he had raised as a son had taken up the role he'd been destined for; sad, because it showed him that beyond all doubt the time of the Elves had passed. The time of Men was upon them and it was time to leave, time to let them make their own choices, their own mistakes. Time to leave the land he'd fought all of his life to protect, to nourish. It was a beginning for Men, but it was the end of the tale for the Elves.

At last they reached the gates of the City, and none too soon as far as they were concerned. The sun had burned away the last of the mist and the stench from those untold thousands of dead orcs and orc-kin was enough to make Men nauseous. For the Elves whose senses that were so much more acute, it was torture. Granted, it was something that they had all endured before, but it seemed so much worse now that they had not been involved in the fighting, had not had the overpowering stench creep up on them gradually, giving them time to get accustomed to it. They were glad to reach the gates, knowing that whatever awaited them inside could be no worse an assault on the senses than the battlefield outside as the Sun continued to rise.

The guardsmen at the gate let them pass once they got over the shock of seeing the group of Elves suddenly and unexpectedly on their doorstep. Elrond and Thranduil led their group inside, shocked at the amount of damage visible, yet relieved that the worst of the stink stayed outside as they had hoped. Neither was impressed when in answer to their questions one of the guards told them that they had missed Aragorn and Legolas by mere hours but, their senses still reeling from the battle-stink, their horses more than ready for a rest after a hard morning's ride, decided that they would take the time to rest that day and depart at dawn the next.

**oOoOo**

Legolas knew he was in trouble.

The battle raged all around him, kept buffered from him by his ghostly guardians, as the forces of Men – numbering barely six thousands – fought against the forces that streamed out of the Black Gates and Mordor. It was chaos, pure and simple. The dark hordes had slammed into the Men's formation and battered at it, breaking off bits and pieces until the battle had degenerated into nothing so much as a free-for-all melee; every man for himself. The Captains of Men fought to call them back into some semblance of order, but their shouted commands were more often than not drowned out by the din of battle.

Which brought us back to the Elf prince.

He'd gone with them, with Aragorn and Gimli and Gandalf and the Hobbits and Eomer and the host of men, to represent the Elves as he'd sworn to do so long ago, his only concession to their concerns the saddle and bridle he rarely ever used. He'd felt a bit off as he rode with them to challenge the Black Gate, but brushed it off as a symptom of his inability to find a comfortable position in which to rest the previous night. When the Mouth of Sauron had thrown them Frodo's shining coat of Mithril mail and laughed, he'd felt a strong twinge inside but brushed it off as heartache for the little ones, taken and tortured by the Dark Lord's forces.

It was only now, with the battle raging full-force around him on all sides, that he was forced to admit that it had not been sleepless-cramps, had not been heartache. His leggings and saddle wet under him, his belly visibly twitching as the spasms shot through him with a strength Galadriel's book had in no way prepared him for, he was forced to acknowledge the fact that he was, in fact, in labor, and that judging by the signs the baby was well on its way.

Wonderful.

What was he to do? He could see now that he'd been a fool to ride to battle so near to his time, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He'd intended to be somewhere safe, most likely in Minas Tirith and the Healing Houses there, when his time came. Not in the middle of a battle in front of the Black Gate. He'd read the section of the book describing the birth with horrified fascination enough times to have a fairly good idea of what to expect, but even that resource described the act as if he was in the company of a midwife.

Somehow, he doubted the dark forces would let one through.

Which was entirely beside the point. He could _not_ have it there, in the middle of a raging battle on a dead plain just outside Mordor. He _refused_ to have it there.

Another hard pain ripped through him, letting him know that he might not exactly have a choice, and he curled around it as much as he could, tensing involuntarily against it even as he knew he should be trying to relax into it. Whoever thought that a person would be capable of relaxing when they were being split in half from the inside out was an idiot. His horse pranced a little both from the odd smells and the confusing signals its rider was giving it. The tensed legs said _go_ but the reins said _stand_, and it didn't know which was true. Instinct said it was _stand_ so it stayed, though it couldn't help but sidle a little.

He was so focused on the gut-wrenching pain inside that it took a moment for him to register the fact that he was staring down at a pair of green-glowing ghostly feet that were standing on the ground right in front of him. Or seeming to, anyway. The fact that a fist-sized rock was sticking up through one foot belied the fact. He looked up, meeting eyes long-dead yet somehow warm.

The dead had no voices, not since their leader had passed on, but they still managed to make themselves understood somehow.

This one was plainly curious, and wanted to know what was wrong. Had they somehow failed in their self-appointed duty of protecting him?

"Baby. Now," was all Legolas managed to grit out, fighting to keep his seat. He could _not_ get down. If he did, there would be no getting back up and he really _would_ have his baby right there. In the open. In the middle of a battle.

Ghostly eyes widened in shocked understanding, darting from his face to his belly and back. A cocked head asked the question.

"Yes, _now_!" Another pain, and Legolas grit his teeth against the pain, somehow keeping in a stream of curses that his father would be astounded and dismayed to learn that his precious son _knew_, let alone knew how to _use_.

All of a sudden his ghostly guardians were all around him, answering the voiceless call of the first. They milled around him, the occasional hand reaching out to run along his skin with a shiver-inducing sensation. He did not fear them, though those were the same hands that decimated the enemies that came near him. Even had they not promised to protect him, he would not. He did not fear the dead.

Perhaps that was part of the reason they were so taken with him. That, and the new life he bore.

The life that was fighting to be born at that most inappropriate of times.

He looked up at them, sweat breaking out cold on his forehead at the pain that peaked and ebbed yet never entirely went away, and dared to hope.

"I need to get away from here," he told them. But where could he go? Everything was bleak and barren and lifeless! Where could he- Ah! North Ithilien! They'd camped there the night before.

…And arrived at the Black Gate after hours of riding.

He didn't think the baby wanted to wait that long.

Wait.

He looked to his otherworldly escort. "I need to get to the forest... I need to get to Ithilien, to the forest we camped last night… Can you help me?"

The dead said nothing, just reached for the horse. It shivered and twitched, its eyes rolling as they touched it, but before he could do much more than say a few soothing words, they were off, shooting across the battlefield with unworldly speed. Those in front cleared the way, leaving behind the occasional Man to stare in dazed shock at the bodies of his opponents before charging back into battle once again, while those around him carried both him _and_ the horse, carrying them both away to safety as quickly as they could.

And for the dead, that was very fast indeed.

**oOoOo**

The battle was over.

They could hardly believe it, could hardly believe that they were still alive, could hardly believe that they had, against all odds and sense, _won_. Sauron's power was destroyed, his tower cast down, his armies dust without his will to guide them.

Of the six thousands that had marched on the Black Gate, one thousand would not be making the return journey. It was a high price to pay, so many good men had already been lost, but their deaths had not been in vain. The long war of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth and the Dark Lord Sauron was finally at an end.

One argument, however, had _not_ been dealt with.

The Elves, led by Elrond and Thranduil, had reached the battleground in time to join in, sending arrow after arrow flying into the writhing black hordes from Mordor. They had been there to see the Dark Tower of Barad-Dur fall, to see Sauron's forces destroyed as his Ring was returned to the Fire.

It took them a while after the battle had ended to find the Man they were looking for, but now they approached him even as he spoke to a group of riders, sending them out in all directions.

Legolas was not there.

"Aragorn!" Thranduil bellowed as they came within earshot. "_Where is my son!?_"

The Man spun on his heel to face them, wide-eyed, and winced. Visibly fighting back against the urge to cringe, he answered. "We… aren't exactly sure."

"WHAT!?"

"I've sent riders out looking for him," Aragorn said. "We know he is not on the battlefield; I've Men who saw him ride off with the Dead. We just don't know where they _went_, or _why_."

Thranduil was livid. _This_ is the Man Legolas had decided to be with? _This?_ How could this Man have lost his son? Logically, he knew that it was impossible to keep track of everyone once a battle had started, but Legolas was his son, his only child, and logic fled his parental fingers. Wait. Had he said-? "The _Dead?_ He rode off with the Dead? My son is-"

"No! No, he is alive!" Aragorn said. "We rode through the Paths of the Dead and asked the Dead there to fulfill their oaths in the defense of Gondor. A group of them decided they wanted to protect him, and have been guarding him since, even though the others have since gone to their eternal rest. Some of my Men saw him ride off with them during the battle."

It was Elrond's turn to frown. "And _why_ was he in the battle?" he asked. "So close to his time, he should be-"

"I _know_ that, Ada, but try telling _him_ that! He would not stay behind. He threatened to ride out after us should we leave him. I thought he would be safer with the host than alone."

Thranduil chuckled. "He _is_ somewhat stubborn when he had made up his mind," he said. "He gets that from his mother."

Elrond cocked one brow. "From his _mother?_" he asked wryly. "I think not."

Thranduil glared, though his eyes bore hints of laughter. "Are you calling me stubborn?"

"I'm not call-"

"My Lord Aragorn, King, Sire, Sir!" a rider called as he approached. He clearly had no idea which title to use on an acknowledged yet uncrowned king, so he used them all. "We found him! Well, we didn't find him find him, but we found the direction in which he went!"

"Good," Aragorn said. He turned to his horse and mounted, then looked back at the two Elven lords even as a hastily-assembled escort gathered around him. "Will you ride with me?" he asked.

"He is my son, of course I will ride!" Thranduil said, urging his horse closer.

"As will I," Elrond said. "And I will hope that my services as a Master Healer are not required."

**oOoOo**

The sun was sinking into the West by the time they arrived in Ithilien, and the sky was a brilliant mix of reds, oranges, and purples when a single ghostly guardian led then to the secluded glade where Legolas rested.

He lay on the thick moss to one side of the clearing, shoulders propped up against a moss-covered fallen tree. Not far from him, a small stream trickled along on its merry way, filling the air with its watery laughter. He was pale, still, covered to the shoulders with his cloak, and for one heart-stopping moment they thought he was dead.

Then the blond head moved, tired eyes sliding over to look at those who had disturbed his rest. He dismissed most of them with barely a thought, until his eyes settled on the one he most wanted to see. "Ada," he called, voice soft and a bit hoarse.

Thranduil dismounted, moving at once to his son's side. He brushed unnaturally tangled locks back from his son's pale face. "Legolas," he greeted.

"Ada, look what I did," the younger Elf said. One arm rose, then shaking fingers turned down the cloak enough for them to see, wrapped up in his tunic, a tiny bundle of life.

Staring down at his son and new grandson, Thranduil found that he couldn't say anything.

Elrond, moving up beside them even as Aragorn did, smiled down at them. The baby was beautiful, and strongly favored its… nana? He looked to Aragorn. "You two make beautiful children," he said. "When do you intend to have the wedding?"

Aragorn managed to tear his gaze away from the baby long enough to give Elrond a confused look. "Wedding? I don't know. I'll have to speak with Arwen."

"Arwen?" Elrond asked, frowning. "What does she have to do with it?"

Now it was Aragorn's turn to frown. "I'm marrying her. You said that once I was King of Gondor, she and I could wed."

"Yes, but that was before you found love with Legolas. So when do you intend to wed him?"

"Found love-?" Aragorn's eyes were wide. "We didn't-"

"I'm not marrying him!" Legolas said, eyes just as wide.

Thranduil frowned. "But, my son, if you love each other well enough to make this baby possible, then-"

"He's only my friend!" Aragorn said.

"I don't love him like that!" Legolas said.

"What!?"

**END**

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